


(Un)Wanted

by TheAsexualofSpades



Series: (Un)Wanted and Other Stories [1]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Angst, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Needs a Hug, Blood, Blushing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Flirting, Gay Panic, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Panic Attacks, Protective Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Protective Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Protective Deceit | Janus Sanders, Protective Logic | Logan Sanders, Protective Morality | Patton Sanders, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sympathetic Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Sympathetic Deceit | Janus Sanders, can be platonic or romantic you decide, everyone is sympathetic cause that's how we roll in this house, i have so much respect for the people who have to tag stuff for this fandom holy shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 59,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26132491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAsexualofSpades/pseuds/TheAsexualofSpades
Summary: A child that sees demons in every dark corner is not a child that is wanted.A child that cries and freezes and mumbles of terrible things is not a child that is wanted.A child that jumps and startles and hisses is not a child that is wanted.Unwanted things are purged from the Earth.So Virgil runs.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders, Anxiety | Virgil/Creativity | Roman/Deceit | Janus/Logic | Logan/Morality | Patton (Sanders Sides), DLAMP, LAMP - Relationship, calm - Relationship, dlampr
Series: (Un)Wanted and Other Stories [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2163078
Comments: 306
Kudos: 1001
Collections: Gay Fanfiction, TS Hurt Comfort To Soothe The Soul





	1. Virgil

**Author's Note:**

> you know i really wish i had someone to blame for this
> 
> i really do
> 
> this is my first time writing any of these characters so please be kind!!!!

He’s running. He’s running, he doesn’t know what from anymore, all he knows is that they’re chasing him, they’re after him, he has to run—

He tears through the cold forest. It doesn’t matter that he can’t see where he’s going anymore, it doesn’t matter that the branches reach out and tear at his clothes, at his legs, at his arms. The cuts sting in the cold wind as he runs. His feet slap against the ground, too ungainly to dodge the smaller roots but just quick enough to swerve around the bigger ones. He glances over his shoulder. Can’t see them. Can’t see anything. Run. Run. _Run_.

The trees get thicker. The branches no longer whip past his shoulders, they stick. He has to dodge. He has to swerve. He has to hold his arms up in front of him to block the ones he can’t. His arms sting, rending through the thin tunic easily. His lungs ache. His brain races.

_Demon._

_Evil._

_Bad._

_Cursed._

The branches disappear and he almost pitches forward, throwing his arms out to catch his balance a few moments later. The second his arms aren’t in front of his face anymore, he winces. Why the fuck is there a massive clearing right here? It’s so goddamn bright, he has to blink at least three times before he can—

Oh.

Oh, no.

No, no, no, no, this is bad, this is really bad—

It’s a fae garden.

It’s golden. It’s enchanting. No plants grow that artistically. The colors are just this side of too vibrant, bathed in the gleam coming from he has no idea where. he can hear it faintly in the back of his mind, calling softly, luring him, beckoning him deeper into the garden.

No. No, no no, he has to leave, he has to run away, maybe if he runs a different way he can escape both of them but he has to leave now before something catches him and—

“Oh, and what do we have here?”

_Shit_.

His eyes widen and he whirls around to see a figure leaning up against a tree with far too much grace, all long limbs and coiled power. He pushes off the tree and saunters closer, the golden lights gleaming and scattering off the scales on one side of his face.

_Where the fuck did he come from?_ He glances around. Are there more? There have to be. Where are they?

“See something interesting, pretty thing?”

His gaze snaps back to the— _when the fuck did he get so close_ —fae in front of him, his eyes raking over anything and everything to make sure he’s not looking at his face. He doesn’t _exactly_ remember the etiquette when it comes to fae but eye contact is the actual worst.

The fae is dressed like he’s stepped out of some time capsule, black bowler, a black cloak wrapped elegantly around his shoulders, a black suit underneath. Golden clasps hold it together over a shock of yellow. And…how many— _six_ arms?

He backs away. The fae keeps coming. Too late he realizes he’s walked further into the fae’s trap, now he _can’t_ get out of the garden. Not without going past the fae.

A hand, gloved in that rich yellow, comes up, a single finger tilting his chin up to— _fuck why is he so close?_

Close enough that he can _feel_ breath on his face. Close enough that he can see each individual scale, placed delicately next to each other. Close enough that he can see one side of the fae’s mouth curving up the side of his face like a snake. Or maybe that’s just the smirk.

“As flattered as I am by your staring,” the fae purrs and _fuck_ , that voice, “my eyes are up here, pretty one.”

He’s never been very good at responding to flirting in a normal way, mainly because most pick-up lines are terrible puns and he will either be too absorbed in the pun-off or the implications of said pun. And, um, he doesn’t…really get flirted with a lot.

But _this_?

He’s in _way_ over his head and he knows it’s not just the flirting, it’s not just the teasing smile, it’s not just the low voice, it’s not just the finger that’s just this side of too light under his chin, he knows it’s fae, but he can’t _do_ anything about it. And if he says the wrong thing—

The predator in front of him smells blood and pounces.

“Didn’t they teach you manners,” the snake chides, tapping his nose with the tip of his finger, and he's caught between the _audacity_ of it and how effortlessly he makes him feel _tiny_ , “about how it’s rude to stare? Though I suppose I can’t blame you, not entirely, now can I?”

The snake’s eyes go wide, the smirk growing fiendish as his insides turn to mush. He locks his knees quickly. He won’t collapse. He _won’t_. Even if that one finger under his chin is the only thing holding him up. Also what the _fuck_ is he supposed to do with his arms?

“My, my,” comes that frustrating purr, “are all mortals this warm?”

The finger slides along his jaw, the touch leaving an electrifying tingle in its wake. He’s frozen, staring at the snake’s mismatched eyes as the gloved hand comes up to stroke a thumb across his flushed cheek, touch burning and soft.

“Or, oh, and now this could be _very_ interesting,” and the snake leans closer, his mouth right up against his ear, “I haven't made you _flustered_ , have I, my dear?”

The ’s’ in ‘flustered’ comes out as a hiss, and _fuck_ that shouldn’t make him turn to jelly but it _does_. A low chuckle rumbles through the air as the snake pulls back, grinning like the cat that got the—or the snake that— _fuck_ , his brain’s too offline to come up with any metaphors that would work. Simile. _Fuck_.

The snake’s hand comes up under his chin again, the fabric of his gloves making the drag decadent as he lifts his gaze back to his and he can’t help the whine that comes out of his throat.

The snake’s grin widens.

“Oh, I didn’t enjoy that at _all_ ,” he purrs, “let’s see if I can make you do that again.”

No, no—

The snake’s fingers hook and trace three little lines up the underside of his chin and he can’t help it. This time he doesn’t just whine, he tilts his chin back further, much to the snake’s delight.

“ _Lovely_.”

He doesn’t even have to touch him this time. He whimpers.

“Is that all it takes, sweetie? Just one word?” The snake’s thumb runs along the curve of his jaw again. “Aren’t you _precious_ ~”

The words sink into him like honey, sweet and sticky, trapping him in his touches, in his voice. The snake hisses contentedly, tilting his chin back and forth. He can’t look away.

“Precious indeed,” he repeats, the hiss becoming more pronounced, “if not a little…flushed.”

He burns warmer, the snake’s smile growing, full of sly mischief and sharp fangs.

“You look distressed, kitten—“ _prey_ — “are you…nervous?”

Goddamnit, he’s _not_ gonna collapse into a puddle. He’s _not_. Every single ounce of his willpower goes into making sure he stays upright.

_I don’t! Know! What to do! With! My hands!_

“Oh dear,” the snake purrs again, not sounding at all sorry, “have I rendered you speechless?”

_Yes_.

“You’re the one that stumbled into my garden, lost little lamb,” the snake hums, “how was _I_ supposed to know you would be so easily disarmed?”

He tilts his head, mismatched eyes shining. “It seems awfully _rude_ to stumble in unannounced and then not explain the reason for the intrusion, does it not?”

The smoky haze the snake’s words had cast on his mind tightens, the quiet whispering lure of the garden sharpening into a call. The snake’s touch is still light but his voice has an unmistakable edge to it. The snake’s fingers are a blade perched delicately against his neck. He doesn’t know how to keep it from cutting his throat.

The snake chuckles. “You’re too easy, my little mouse. I’m only teasing.”

_That doesn’t make it any easier!_

“Are you too tongue-tied to speak, darling?” The snake smiles, the human side of his face softening just the smallest bit. he might be imagining it. He’s probably imagining it. “That’s alright, I have…other ways of figuring out what you want.”

_Wait, what? No, no thank you. Don’t like that. Huh-uh. Nope._

“Just…look here,” the snake murmurs, cupping his chin properly for the first time, the amount of contact making his head spin.

He’s still trying desperately to keep his legs from collapsing and he knows if he even _tries_ to move he _will_ fall into a puddle at the snake’s feet. But that leaves him frozen, helpless in the snake's gaze.

“That’s it…just look right at me.” The snake’s eyes gleam as he gestures to his face. “Yes…enjoy, sweetie.”

_Stop it_ , he wants to plead, _let me go_. he can’t.

“Now, then, let’s see what brought you here…”

He gasps. The snake’s words reach into his head and pull forward memories, emotions, angry words called out in fits of rage. Fear. Angry clattering of swords and torches swung so close the tips of his hair is singed. Knives, daggers, blood—lifting something from the inside of a chest and carrying it over to—

He gasps. Years of neglect, abuse, being scorned and turned aside, cursed for the scars littering his body, mocked and shamed for them. Years of whispers behind his back, forced smiles, fake faces. Years of always having to look over his shoulder, think twelve steps ahead, always have a backup plan.

He gasps. Tendrils curling into his jaw, wiring it shut, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Tendrils winding around his arms, his legs, his fingers. Holding a knife. Rewriting his memory.

He sees himself. His _true_ self. Standing with a pair of battered gauntlets encasing his wrists, his hands covered in blood. More blood splattered across his face, across the three long scratches that threaten to take out his eye. More scars twisting across his stomach, black pooling out from where they refuse to close. A blue glow, sickeningly artificial, emerging from his mouth, from his eyes, winding around him, tying him up. It hurts.

He blinks.

His eyes sting, he’s crying, when did he start crying? Is he crying? He blinks again, watching the snake’s face swim back into view. The shameless flirty smirk is gone, replaced with a softer look. Another moment and something covers his eyes. He can’t help the frightened keen when his world is thrown into darkness. Is the snake gonna take him somewhere? Kill him? Something worse than death? What’s happening?

“Shh,” the snake murmurs, no longer dripping with allure, “hush now, darling.”

He shuts his eyes reflexively, the sudden loss of his vision sending him stumbling. Can he grab? Yes? No?

A hand catches his arm. Another his other arm. Another pressed to the space between the shoulder blades. Another curled possessively around his hips. The hand over his eyes stays firmly in place, gentling a little as the other hands press him against the snake, holding him up. His legs won’t work properly, pulled as he is at an awkward angle.

_“It’s dark because you’re trying too hard,”_ the snake murmurs, the quote rolling off his tongue, _“lightly, child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly.”_

The snake adjusts his grip, pulling him closer. 

_“Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.”_ Another hand—that’s right, there’s six—cradles the back of his head. _“Lightly, lightly—it’s the best advice ever given me.”_

The darkness doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t press. Just lays over his eyes.

_“So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly.”_

The snake leans closer, his lips almost brushing the shell of his ear.

_“Lightly, my darling.”_

He shudders as the air wafts over him. The word ‘lightly’ has been said so much it doesn’t sound like a word anymore.

“So you can speak,” laughs the snake—shit did he say that out loud?— “and oh, what a wonderful voice you have.”

_Really? Back to flirting already?_

“Oh, come now,” he chuckles, “is it really so simple? Alright, alright, I won’t fluster you _too_ badly.”

_Or you could not fluster me at all we could make that work too._

“But you are right,” comes the voice, still right next to his ear, “about saying a word too often before it stops sounding like a word. You mortals tend to do that with yourselves quite a lot, don’t you?”

The snake must be able to feel his brow furrow. He continues. “You tend to look at something for so long that you start to create flaws out of nothing. You see cracks where there are no cracks, imperfections when you know perfection is a standard you will not reach.”

Is…is the snake trying to…comfort him?

“You do that with yourselves,” the snake murmurs, the hand at the back of his head cupping it gently, “and you _must_ look away.”

_Do what now?_

“Look away,” the snake repeats, “look away and give yourself time to _breathe_ , sweetie. The words are still words, you just have to give them time to rest. You are not as flawed as you think you are. You simply must look away for a moment. And don’t forget to breathe.”

The hand on the back of his head moves, the others leaning him back a little so it can come around and pat his chest.

“ _Breathe_ ,” says the snake.

He breathes.

“Good.”

So he…isn’t going to kill him? Has he not violated some guest rite that allows the snake to exact some fae revenge? Are mortals not too small and too petty to warrant this amount of…effort?

The flirting…the flirting he kind of gets. He knows he’s shit at receiving compliments, okay, and he _knows_ the way he responded to that flirting was…entertaining. Probably. Yeah, it definitely was.

That doesn’t explain this.

“I can hear you thinking,” the snake hums, “I can hear your little mind whirring away in there.”

_Shit_.

“Why don’t you just _relax_ ,” he purrs, drawing the word out in a way that has to be deliberate, “and stay right here?”

_And do what? I’m still standing here your six arms with your teeth basically at my throat and you seem to really enjoy making me not able to speak or do anything._

He tries. He tries to take another deep breath and let himself relax into the snake’s arms. It’s not easy.

“That’s it, good.” The hand on his chest gives him another little pat. “Well, now I _could_ call you any number of things, my darling, now couldn’t I? But I did say I wouldn’t fluster you too badly.”

He hums for a moment, he can almost feel his gaze through the gloved hand still over his eyes.

“May I have your name?”

_Nope. I know that one._

He swallows, his throat dry. his lips are dry too. he licks them quickly and clears his throat. “You may call me V.”

The snake doesn’t seem too bothered by it. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

“Clever boy. Very well, _V_ , why don’t you just take another breath.”

V breathes.

“Have you caught something new for us?”

V’s breath catches. _Fuck_.

Another one?

Judging by the approaching footsteps from behind him, yep. He still doesn’t know what the _fuck_ to do with his hands.

“What fun,” the voice from behind him says, getting closer, “though from the looks of it…I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“ _No_ , of course _not_ ,” the snake drawls, “nothing of the sort. It’s not like I purposefully knew you were meant to be keeping watch today and sent you somewhere _else_.”

_They have a schedule? How many of them are there?_

“Well, good!”

The snake huffs and the other one chuckles.

“So…” The voice stops just behind him and judging from how high up it is, he’s even taller than the snake. “What have we here?”

_Don’t fall over, whatever you do, don’t fall._

“Don’t be greedy,” the second one chides, another pair of hands resting on his shoulders and wow those are warm, “let me see what you’ve caught.”

_No, no, please, let me stay here, I can deal with the snake—_

No such luck. The snake releases his grip except for the hand over his eyes.

“There we go…”

The warm hands turn V around slowly, one hand walking its fingers playfully over his shoulders as they do, across his collarbones, over the hollow of his neck, to the other shoulder. It’s just light enough to tickle, sending pleasant shivers down his spine. 

“We’ve talked about this,” the voice keeps scolding playfully, “keeping things all to yourself…oh. Oh, _look_ at this!”

V knows his face is red, he can feel it. Then those warm fingers flutter up to touch just under his chin and tilt and _shit_ he doesn’t want to do this again.

“Why are you covering his eyes? You’re not usually the type to…avoid attention.”

“It’s not for me.”

“ _You_ , doing something that’s not for yourself? Well, now I _have_ to see. Move your hand.”

_No, please don’t._

“Keep them closed,” the snake murmurs in his ear before his hand lifts. Even with his eyes closed, the light hurts and he squeezes them tighter.

“Oh, how _could_ you?” Hands cup his cheeks. “It is a _crime_ to cover up this absolutely adorable face. Just _look_ at you, pretty thing.”

Judging by the quiet chuckle from behind him and the delighted silence, they’re amused by his reaction which is definitely _not_ to go even brighter and _not_ to squirm a little against the hold.

“Well, well, well, isn’t today a lucky day?” Two fingers tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear, the soft touch drawing the blush right up to the tips.

If his eyes weren’t closed already, they sure as hell would be now. Unlike the snake, this fae didn’t seem to be content to restrict the touch to just a finger or the soft brush of a thumb. No, the new hand trails over his face, lingering in spots that make him twitch, where he’s sensitive. his mouth. Just under his bottom lip. The bridge of his nose, right between his eyes. Tracing a lazy path around his jawline, right under his chin. his face burns, each stroke setting his skin alight, until they blur together and he has no idea what’s actually touching him and what’s nothing more than a phantom sensation.

And because his eyes are closed, he still can't see anything. So he has no idea where they're going to touch next and he's in a horrible loop of being startled and making noise and then remembering he really doesn't want to move and getting frustrated with himself for moving and making more noise. 

“Oh, I could stand here for _ages_ ,” the voice coos, “just coaxing more of those pretty sounds out of you.”

“He has a pretty voice, doesn’t he?”

_Not you too!_

“I think he likes _your_ voice,” the fae in front of him chuckles.

“I think so too.”

“Which one does he like more?”

_No, no, let’s not test and find out,_ he’s barely staying on his feet as it is, he can _feel_ the snake behind him and sure he could _probably_ grab the fae in front of him too but he’s so close to being a puddle already, _please_ —

“I must say I was surprised to see you being so hands-on with him,” the voice muses, “especially because you know how…fragile little mortals can be, hmm?”

“Mm.”

“Shouldn’t fragile things be treated gently?” The warm hand is back under his chin, cupping it in a firm hold, one of his fingers stroking just the smallest amount.

“What if I were to talk like _this_? In a nice, sweet, gentle voice? Hmm? Would you like that, cutie pie?”

_No, no no no,_ that _voice…_ despite how tightly V tries to stay, tries to clench every muscle he has in defiance, that sweet, soft voice wriggles its way under his skin and he _melts_.

“Aww, yeah,” the voice teases, “yeah, you do, hmm? Nice…and gentle… _good_ …”

He can’t help it, he _whines_. He can’t remember the last time he was praised, and he _knows_ it’s not real, it’s not real, it’s just the fae toying with him, but it _works_ and he _hates_ his traitorous body for responding to it.

“I think you like this~” the voice coos, “I think you like the gentle voice, don’t you? Sweet voice…just like you, little honeybee.”

He…he’s leaning closer, there’s breath fanning over his face, over his neck.

“Can’t you just give in to me,” he coos, “can’t you just give in, little cutie pie?”

V’s lips part. His head tilts. Wait, no—

“That’s right, little honeybee,” and he’s so close, his mouth is so close, so _close_ , _“give in…”_

“Enough.”

_Thank you._

The fae in front of him laughs and drops his hand away. V stifles a sigh of relief, trying frantically to clear his head from _whatever the fuck is happening._

“Don’t be jealous,” the voice says, “it doesn’t look good on you.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Come now, you’re practically green around the gills over there.”

“I haven’t gone yet.”

“You had enough time before I showed up.”

“And you didn’t see it.” The snake shifts. “You got him to whine, that’s all.”

“Oh, I got several more than that, didn’t I?” A finger taps his nose and he squeaks, startled. “See?”

“Oh please.”

“Like you can do better?”

_No, no no, stop please, I would like to get off this ride._

A rustle. Then little puffs of air over his ear.

“ _Darling_ ,” the snake purrs, and fuck, he’s already keening.

The snake chuckles darkly. “That really is all it takes, isn’t it, little mouse? Just…one word?”

He’s too close. He’s too close and that _voice_ like crushed velvet in his ears and he can hear his fucking smirk and oh _god_ —

“Squee for me, little mouse,” he purrs, “ _squee_.”

V squees. God fucking damnit he squees. He covers his face as the snake chuckles in his ear, trying to ignore how much it makes him want to squirm away.

“Thank you, my dear,” he purrs, a soft rustle signifying him standing back up. V doesn’t need to look to see he’s got a smug, satisfied expression on his face.

“Don’t hide,” the voice in front of him laughs, “why don’t you let us see that pretty face?”

He’s gonna faint. He’s gonna fucking keel over right here because he can’t deal with this. He knew he should’ve fucking _bolted_ the second he realized it was a fae garden. He knew he shouldn’t have let them chase him this way. He—

“We didn’t break him, did we?”

“He’s quite flustered, but no, I don’t believe so.”

“Come on, cutie. Let us see.”

“Lower your hands, little mouse, come now…”

He fights down another whine and forces his hands away. The warm hands stipple playfully over his cheeks and _fuck,_ he can’t help relaxing into it, making the voice chuckle again.

“Too much?”

He nods, furiously squeezing his eyes shut.

“You’re the stunnable type, hmm? That’s alright. _Someone_ could have told me.”

“What, _me_? How could _I_ have possibly known?”

“Don’t act like you weren’t enjoying playing with him.”

“ _Never_.”

“I thought we were taught not to play with our food?”

_Right. How the fuck did I forget that these are fae and the snake has literally been calling me ‘little mouse?’ What the fuck are they gonna do to me, can I run? No, no way, you’re not supposed to run from a predator, not like this, now there’s two of them, fuck, fuck—_

“Why _is_ he still here,” the voice muses, still tracing his cheeks, “not that I’m complaining about the chance to play with this _lovely_ little thing, but you’re not the type to share your food.”

V’s…he’s kinda wondering the same thing.

The snake doesn’t respond. A gloved hand covers his fist. Something worms its way into his palm and forces his hand open. Gloved fingers lace through his. He presses his hand against a broad chest, hard. Holds it there.

The chest stutters. Tenses. Then sighs, letting all the breath out in a rush.

“Oh…oh, _sweetheart_ …”

The snake lets his hand go and he’s caught up in a powerful hug, enough to take his breath away. After the teasing, the feather-light barely-there touches, this…this—

_Warm warm warm warm! Solid alive real warm warm tight help trap? Hug? Hug? Warm warm warm too much too much not enough on fire burning don’t let go oh god please—_

“I should’ve known,” the snake murmurs, “that a prince never could resist a damsel in distress.”

“You had all of your arms wrapped around him when I showed up,” the prince shoots back, “don’t act so superior.”

It’s too much. It’s too much and it’s not enough and he needs it to go on forever and he needs it to _stop_. His breath is coming in great whooping gasps and he doesn’t know what to _do._

The prince releases him, shushing him softly when he whines, already bereft of the warmth. “Don’t fret, sweetheart, I won’t hurt you.” He doesn't go far, wrapping him in a slightly looser embrace that still burns. 

Something happens. Something happens and it’s too overwhelming for him to figure out what it is at first but then it _stays_ and it keeps happening and is—is he—

The prince chuckles as he pulls away, his thumb stroking over the spot on his forehead. “Never had a fae kiss before, hmm?”

“It’s _completely_ fair that you got to kiss him first,” comes the hiss from behind him, “it’s not like I’m the one that found him.”

“Well maybe you should have done it before I showed up,” the prince says. “May I have your name, cutie pie?”

_Still no._

“You may call me V.”

The prince laughs, unbothered. Then more darkness. V jerks back on reflex, startled by the contact. Honestly, every _single_ time one of them touches him—

“You look tired,” the prince says kindly, “rest your eyes for a little. Just keep them closed for me.”

“ _Wow_.”

“Oh, please. I trust your judgment. And if he’s that easily overwhelmed…then yes, let’s have you keep your eyes closed for now, hmm?”

“Are you tormenting mortals without me?”

_How many of them are there?_

He hears the prince huff and the arm around his back tightens. “Yeesh. Should’ve known you’d show up.”

“You _know_ better,” the new fae says, “you’re supposed to _tell_ me before you give someone else nightmares.”

“If you would pay attention for _two seconds_ —“

“Oh what, like _you_ can talk.”

“Wow, guys, it’s so cool how you never listen to anything _he_ says.”

“Why are _you_ here?”

“What did you do to the mortal?”

“Oh, shut up—“

“Don’t tell me to shut up!”

_“Why the fuck is it bleeding then?”_

Oh _fuck_ one of the new voices can double itself up and that is a _bad noise_ and it’s too loud, there’s too many people, he doesn’t know where he is, the prince has left, he can’t hear the snake anymore, he can’t hear anything over the voices, so many voices, too many, they’re shouting now, it’s loud, it’s so loud, it hurts, he just wanted to _run away why is he here now he should have run he should have run he just wants to go—_

Something’s touching him. Something’s touching him. Something’s prying his hands away from his ears—when did they get there?—with inhuman strength and he wants to _go_ —

It stops. There’s silence.

For a moment’s he’s terrified that he blacked out, or fainted, or _something_ but then he feels smooth hands covering his ears.

“Shh,” says a low voice, lower than the snake’s, calmer, “hush now. You’re alright.”

Is he, though?

“Breathe, little one,” the voice soothes, “I know it’s loud. The others can get a little…rowdy sometimes. Just breathe. Focus on my voice.”

He tries, tries to feel the rest of him. His head aches and he brings his hands up on instinct only to freeze.

“It’s okay,” the voice says, “you can touch. You won’t hurt me and I won’t let you hurt yourself.”

The hands stroke over the crown of his head as he covers them with his own. They’re smooth, slightly cooler to the touch than he expected.

“I heard your pain when it was pushed through the connection,” the voice says softly, “and I can feel it now. The noise doesn’t help, does it?”

He shakes his head, trying to lean as much into the touch as he can. It—it’s so _hard_ right now and he _knows_ this isn’t going to be free, nothing ever is with the fae, but he can’t help it, so much has just _happened_ and he’s helplessly confused and he has no idea what’s happening and he just wants to be _safe_.

“I understand,” the voice continues, “shh, now you must listen. You are alright. You are here, standing in a garden. I am holding you. You will not be harmed.”

He wants to believe it, he does. And he knows that’s how the fae trap people and he doesn’t want to be hurt anymore, but oh god, he wants to believe it so _bad_.

“Can you not feel the flowers under you? Can you not smell them? Even with your eyes closed, can you not see the light?”

He can. He can, but…

“It’s okay,” the voice murmurs, “it’s okay.”

The cool touch burns. It still burns, even though these hands aren’t as warm as the prince’s, nor are they as rough as the snake’s gloves. Why does it burn? It—it’s not trying to hurt him, is it?

“I’m just blocking out the extra sensory input,” the voice says, “I’m not hurting you. Though…I must say, you are the first touch-starved mortal I’ve seen in a while.”

T-touch-starved? He’s touch-starved? Is that why everything burns?

“Shh,” the voice soothes, “it’s okay. This isn’t a bad thing. Well, not in context right now. It is true that mortals, especially humans, rely heavily on physical contact. It is crucial to their health and development, particularly in infancy.”

V nods, still clutching at the smooth hands over his ears. Why does this have to be so _hard_?

The hands hold him firmly, then something touches his forehead. It’s warm and slightly chapped and—

Is…is this one kissing him too?

“It’s okay,” the voice murmurs after he kisses him, resting his own forehead against V’s, “everything is okay.”

For the first time since _god_ he has no idea when, he breathes easy, something finally releasing in his chest. V hangs on to the hands over his ears, letting the low voice wash over him. It’s like something’s reaching into his brain again, like the way the snake did, sorting through everything and tucking it out of the way and it…oh god it feels so _clear._

“Do you believe me now,” it asks after a while, “about where you are?”

He swallows, his voice refusing to come out as anything other than a whisper. “I’m trying.”

“Why don’t you open your eyes, then,” the voice suggests kindly, “and see for yourself?”

“The others…”

“Have stopped yelling, if that’s what’s worrying you,” the voice says.

Not what he meant, but that’s good, right?

“Here,” the voice murmurs, moving his hands a little bit away from his ears, “see?”

The ambient sounds of the garden. No yelling.

“Nice and quiet. I would _hope_ ,” the voice continues, raising a little, “that they would _realize_ why that would not have been ideal.”

“Be gentle, Specs,” the prince barks.

“I am not hurting him,” the voice assures, “although this next part might.”

And in an instant, V’s head fills again.

_Danger danger run run hurt it’s going to hrut they’re going to hurt me, oh god, I knew I should’ve run, no, no, no more please, not anymore, red fire knives sharp things burning._

“Hey, hey, it’s quite alright…” Something touches his forehead—another kiss?—and suddenly he can breathe again. “That was not my intention.”

Specs, he guesses, doesn’t try and move again, letting him move his head around a bit to hear where he is.

“Better?” V nods. “Good. You’re doing very well. May I touch your arms, please?”

The first time one of them has _asked_ before touching him. He nods, warily lifting his arms.

“Are these just from branches,” Specs asks, trailing a finger lightly over the— _right_ , the cuts on his arms, “or did someone do these?”

_Nope. Nope. Bad things. So many bad things, no no no no—_

He shakes his head. “Just branches.”

“Mm.” The light gets brighter behind his lids and he winces. “It’ll be over in a second, have patience.”

His arms tingle, his skin itching as it gets warm, warmer, warmer, wait…

Is Specs healing him?

“It’s a good thing you didn’t try and take a dagger to the branches,” Specs says, “that could’ve been…bad for you.”

“Better to be hacked at by a few branches than for their poisonous fumes to be unleashed upon you as soon as you slice open their limbs,” the other new voice says, the nightmare voice, _right behind him_ , making him jump, “providing a slow, painful demise…as you choke on your own breath…”

Specs sighs. “Yes, that is accurate. I am almost finished, one moment…there.”

Curious, V runs his fingers over his arms and…yeah. The cuts are all gone. he opens his mouth to say thank-you when—

Wait. Hang on. he’s not supposed to do that.

“…that’s better,” he chooses instead.

“Good.” There’s a moment of silence. “Are your eyes alright?”

“Huh?”

“It’s just…you haven’t opened them. And you, uh, the prince had them covered when we appeared up.”

“They didn’t blind you, did they?”

“No.”

He _really_ doesn’t want to say the wrong thing right now. He turns his head, trying to figure out where the others are.

“They’re just talking,” Specs says, “they won’t shout.”

“What _happened_ to you,” the other one— _how fucking many of them are there, he’s gonna fucking faint at this rate_ —asks, “there was such exquisite pain in you when Snakey pushed it across…and you’re so _tense_ …you need to loosen up.”

_No. No more flirting. Please, no more._

It’s not flirting, not really, but it makes his brain freeze all the same.

There are hands, _warm_ hands, as warm as the prince’s, under his shirt, on his back, stroking his bare skin and it’s warm, it’s warm, it’s so so so warm and it feels so good but it burns but it’s too much he can’t think, he can’t hear, he can’t breathe—

“V?”

There’s a hand on his face.

“ _V_.”

The hand leaves his face. He whimpers.

“Stop it, Duke, he can’t think with you doing that.”

“But—!”

“Just for a second.”

The hands are gone. His brain wakes up and he can’t help the soft desperate sound he makes. Wow, maybe he really is touch-starved. Specs shushes him.

“I know, I know, V,” he soothes, “I just need to talk to you for a second. Can you do that for me?”

_These have gotta be the fucking weirdest fae I’ve ever heard of._

He nods.

“Good. Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“What?”

“How did you find this place,” Specs asks, his voice still tender and soft,“how did you get here?”

“I was…” he swallows. “I was…running. They were chasing me.”

“Why were they chasing you?”

“Did _they_ hurt you?” the duke growls behind him and he cringes.

He’s heard tales of fae anger before, and he expected it when he stumbled into the garden. He expected the fiery temper of an outraged fae. He expected stone-cold mutterings. He expected pretty words and sweetly soured threats as he was cursed for all eternity.

This rage, this dark, hateful fury makes all of those sound like a child’s tantrum.

“Wow,” he distantly hears the prince laugh, “that didn’t take long.”

“W-what’s happening?”

“I believe the Duke has gone, as you mortals call it, feral,” Specs says, pulling him forward gently by his elbows, “only happens when he gets into a state of extreme protectiveness. It would be advisable for you to keep your eyes closed, otherwise it is likely looking at him in his current state would blind you.”

Feral. Blind. Protective.

_I’m so confused right now I’m not even sure what parts I’m supposed to be confused about and that’s confusing me._

How…how did this happen? Why is this happening? he just—he was just trying to _escape_. And then he stumbled into a fae garden and now—

Now there’s at least…fuck, what is that now, one, two, three…at least four different fae here, _two_ of them have kissed him, and one of them just went _feral_ because of…why, exactly?

_Fuck_ , what kind of shit is he going to _owe_ them after this?

The fae doesn’t do anything for free. _Ever_. Nothing comes without a demand for payment and they’ve…god, all of them have comforted him in some regard, he’s pretty sure kisses count for something, and one of them just _healed_ him.

Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

Voices. They’re talking. They seem to be trying to calm down the duke. Specs…that’s right, Specs has got hold of him.

He’s…he’s warm too. They’re all warm. Is…is that because they’re fae or…because he’s touch-starved?

Wow, you know, the more he says it, the more sense it makes.

Something wraps around his waist and yanks him backward, away from Specs. His back collides with something solid and he can’t help the frightened squeak. The grip shifts.

Oh. It’s a pair of arms. Is…is it the duke?

“That,” he hears Specs murmur in front of him, “was adorable.”

“Told you.”

The chest behind him rumbles and he can hear something wet, like…like slime or something coming from behind him. He thrums with energy, almost making his teeth chatter. The duke clings to him like he’s going to disappear, or like a child would cling to a stuffed animal if a parent threatened to take it away. Trying frantically to calm his breathing, he keeps his eyes shut tight and tries to pat the iron grip around his waist…reassure it, if he can, ground them both. The arms relax, just the smallest bit, the hands— _warm warm warm warm so warm_ —starting to move. It’s like they’re trying to map out his body as they pull him against him, comforting themselves by saying ‘it’s still here, right here’ through touch.

His tunic got rucked up when he was pulled back and the hands are so warm. One of them slips underneath and lands on his stomach and he tenses reflexively. The duke rubs softly. Warm. It’s warm. It’s so warm. The duke rumbles contentedly when he relaxes into his hold.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s gonna let go of him now.”

“It is highly unlikely.”

“And you said it would be difficult.”

“Ensuring the duke does not kill a mortal and _keeping_ one are two different things.”

_Hold on wait what now._

“Oh come on, you know the hardest one to convince is _him_.”

“That’s _such_ a flattering description.”

“Like it’s not true!”

Ugh, _noise_.

Wait. What’s that?

He jerks his head around only to wince when _more light_ —honestly, he’s so not convinced they’re not actually trying to blind him, he hasn’t been able to open his eyes since the snake covered them—shines right at him.

“There you all are! I’m surprised you didn’t call me sooner!”

“How many of you _are_ there?” he mutters finally, only for the duke to chuckle.

“About time you got here,” the prince grumbles somewhere to his right, “I’m surprised you didn’t show up with Worry and Wart.”

“Speaking of which,” the newest voice says and he can practically _see_ the disapproving expression, “what have we said about trying to claim mortals?”

The duke tightens his grip on him and growls. “Mine.”

“Now, kiddo, you know better than that.”

_Okay, Dad has entered the chat._

The duke grumbles but lets him go. The sudden disappearance of the thing he’d been leaning against makes him stagger. _Rude_.

“Easy there, kiddo,” the new voice says, catching him, “don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself. What’s happened to your eyes?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, then, why don’t you open them, kiddo?”

_Because three of you specifically told me not to._

“It’s alright,” Specs says from…somewhere, “you will not be blinded if you look now.”

“He gets a little…overexcited now and then,” the new voice says, “but it’s okay, kiddo. Come on, open up.”

He’s still a little worried about the prince and the snake but not enough to outweigh the worry about what actively refusing could cause. Plus, this one kind of seems like a leader, so…

He opens his eyes and immediately shuts them again, wincing and looking down.

“Oh, are you hurt? Did something go wrong?”

“It’s bright,” he defends, and honestly, it was bright to begin with. Now that he’s had his eyes closed for god knows how long, it’s unbearable.

“I can fix that.”

Well, the prince must do something because it dims. It gets to the point where he doesn’t have to screw up his eyes anymore and he blinks.

The garden still glows, but it’s nowhere near as noticeable. He registers the flowers first, still bright and perky. His gaze travels up a pastel blue cloak to a pair of black glasses. Oh.

He looks…ordinary. Kind of. He looks just like a human except there’s something just off-center. It’s like…a human but slightly to the left. Yeah? We get it. It’s like the human half of the snake’s face.

Actually…do they all have the same face?

He looks around. Specs, he’s guessing, is the one in the dark blue suit, also wearing glasses. The prince _has_ to be the one in the bright white, the crimson sash across his chest and the pieces of gold gleaming. Next to him stands the snake. He also waves.

Behind him must be the duke, then. He, well, he _really_ kind of looks like the prince. Except he’s in black and green. And has a mustache. And like…four tentacles. Okay. Sure. At this point, why the heck not.

Also, they’re all…really pretty. Like… _really_ pretty.

So pretty that just the _thought_ of those flirty comments said by those faces are enough to make him blush to the tips of his ears.

_Why are they all so pretty? This isn’t fair._

His attention is drawn back when the one holding him beams. “There you go! I knew you could do it. Can I have your name, kiddo?”

_Third time ain’t gonna be the charm._

“You may call me V.”

He throws back his head and laughs. “Alright, alright, that’s fair. Then you may call me Pat.”

…sure.

“Have you met everyone else?”

_We’re putting ‘met’ in big scare quotes, right._

He shakes his head hesitantly. Pat pouts, looking around.

“You didn’t introduce yourselves?”

“L,” says Specs.

The prince and the duke glance at each other. “Yeah, that’s not really gonna work for us.”

“What? No, it can!”

“You may call me the Prince.”

“Ugh. Fine. I’m the Duke.”

_Nailed it._

Pat looks expectantly at the snake. The snake just smiles.

“He likes being secretive,” Pat stage-whispers, “don’t take it personally.”

“Eh,” the prince says, “he’ll come around.”

“Oh no,” Pat says quickly, “not you too.”

“As a matter of fact,” L says, “I’m afraid it’s just you that has not…joined in.”

Pat looks around to see the duke nodding fiercely. “Now, kiddos, you know the rules. We can’t just take every mortal we find, we have to help them find their way back home. Especially if they’ve done nothing wrong!”

_So…so I haven’t done anything wrong? Does that mean I don’t owe them anything? Does that mean I…I can leave?_

_But where would I go?_

He doesn’t want to go back. He doesn’t want to have to run again, away from the swords and the arrows and the _hurt_ , away from all the people that would love nothing more than to put his head on a spike or watch him get pecked apart by birds. They…they _hate_ him, hate everything that he is.

And for as much as they’ve all been, the fae, they’ve…

None of them has hurt him.

It’s been so long since someone touched him without the intent to hurt.

Hell, one of them _did_ go feral at the thought of someone _else_ trying to hurt him.

Would…would it be so bad to stay here?

“Oh, come on, you’re the heart! You felt that,” the duke exclaims, “you know we can’t just—”

“It’s not our job to interfere!”

“On the contrary. We have indeed ‘interfered,’ as you put it on multiple occasions of a similar kind.” L gestures to him. “This one should be treated similarly.”

“Ha, see?” The prince smacks L’s shoulder. “Even L agrees.”

“That doesn’t happen very often,” L mutters.

“I, for one, think it’s a splendid idea!”

“See, Duke does too! And you know how rare it is that _we_ agree on something!”

“The rules are there for a reason, kiddos,” Pat scolds, “and why are they there?”

The prince groans. “‘To preserve the balance between their realm and ours and to make sure the two don’t collide,’” he repeats reluctantly.

“Exactly!” Pat looks back at him, resting his hands on his shoulders. “This has been a lot for you, hasn’t it, kiddo?”

_Boy howdy, that’s one hell of an understatement._

He nods. Pat smiles patiently.

“You’ve been through so much, haven’t you,” he murmurs, taking a strand of his hair and twisting it around his finger, “brave little kiddo…it still hurts, doesn’t it?”

“…yes.”

“You know what mortals are like, Pat,” the prince mutters, “they’re bad enough with their _own_ kind, and they aren’t evolved enough to _know_ how to deal with difference. You know how wrong that can go.”

“Do you have someplace to go, kiddo?”

Does he?

Would anywhere ever be far enough away?

Would he even get there?

The prince sees his hesitation and seizes it. “No, he doesn’t, does he? Why can’t we just keep him? Don’t act like you don’t want to!”

“We are _not_ keeping him!”

They’re…they’re fighting. Over him. Over…over whether or not they can keep him. Not whether they want to but…whether they _can_.

_Oh. Oh, wow._

The prince opens his mouth to respond but—

Footsteps. He can hear them. Through the trees. He jerks his head around in the direction of the sound. His eyes go wide. No. No, no. Did they find him? How did they find him?

“Are you sure that little bitch went this way?”

“I can’t see a damn thing!”

“Why the fuck didn’t you lock the restraints properly, then this wouldn’t’ve happened!”

“It’s not like he needs his arms to run!”

“Then why didn’t you just cut off his leg and call it a day?”

“Ah! Damn branches, what the hell—“

“Where the fuck did he get off to?”

“Told you that monster wasn’t human!”

“He cursed us, I bet you. He’s probably laughing at us right now.”

“With any luck, some animal found him and did the job for us.”

“Hey, what’s that?”

“What?”

“Over there, see the light?”

No, no, no, no, no no no not again—

He turns and tries to run but runs into Pat, who grabs him tightly. He whimpers, tries to pull away but Pat holds him fast. He looks up at Pat’s face to plead, to—

—oh.

Pat’s gaze is fixed over his shoulder, his face unreadable. He doesn’t move as the mob gets closer and closer.

“Hey, hey, stop!”

“The fuck are you on about?”

“Don’t you know a fuckin’ fae garden when you see one? I ain’t going in _there_!”

“Think he ran through here?”

“Fae probably caught him. Wonder what the hell those bastards did to him.”

Pat quirks an eyebrow.

“Tore him apart, at least I fuckin’ hope so.”

“Let’s go back. I ain’t running through _there_ and if we’re lucky the fae got rid of him.”

“Maybe we should thank them.”

Loud guffaws trail off into the distance. he breathes a sigh of relief. They’re gone. They’re gone, they’re gone.

Pat still hasn’t let him go. He looks up anxiously at Pat’s face to see him clench his jaw. he has to fight the urge to shrink under Pat’s gaze when he looks down.

"Did they hurt you?"

His words are frozen in his throat. The garden is silent.

"Just nod or shake your head, did they hurt you?"

When Pat sees him nod, sees how scared he is, something softens. One hand comes up to twist the strand of his hair again.

“Change of plans,” he says quietly, “may we keep you, kiddo?”

…h-he can stay? They…they _want_ him?

The prince whoops as he nods, the duke rushing forward to hug him enthusiastically from behind. Pat giggles, reaching forward to crush both him and the duke in a hug.

“Nobody’s gonna touch you again, kiddo,” he murmurs, pressing a—wow, is this, like, a thing? ‘Cause he just kissed his forehead too. Then he frowns and runs a thumb over the spot he kissed.

“Seems I’m the last one, hmm?” At his confused look, Pat smiles, holding his hand out. A pastel blue glow appears in his hand.

“We all have different colors,” he explains, “as you can…probably guess from looking at us.”

V nods, still confused as to where this is going.

“When one of us makes a claim, it leaves a trace in that color. And you, kiddo,” he says, tapping his nose, “are a rainbow.”

A…a claim?

“Even though we didn’t discuss it beforehand…”

“Pish posh,” the prince says, “he’s staying now. Which means—oh! Oh, we have to get ready!”

“Oh shit.”

“How did we miss that?”

“We gotta go!”

The duke lets him go with one more squeeze and a smacking kiss on the forehead—okay this must be a thing—grabbing the prince by the arm as they rush toward the other end of the garden. L follows a little more sedately. Pat squeezes his shoulders.

“Give us a few minutes, kiddo, then step through the portal.”

He blinks, still a little taken aback by the sudden whirlwind of energy that just swept through the garden. Pat seems to notice and softens.

“This is a lot, I’m sure,” he says quietly, “and it’s okay if you need to take your time, kiddo. But you’re under our protection now. You can come when you’re ready, okay?”

He nods dumbly. Pat smiles and draws away. As he nears the others, there’s a bright flash of light. So bright he throws his arms up to shield his face. Then it’s gone. When he looks, there’s just a shimmering doorway.

“They’re so _dramatic_ , aren’t they?”

He turns.

Right, the snake didn’t go with them. He comes closer, holding out one hand.

“Oh, come now,” he laughs when V hesitates, “we _have_ just established we’re keeping you. There’s nothing for you to worry about if you take my hand.”

He’s got a point, but V would be lying if he said the snake still didn’t make him incredibly nervous. Part of it’s just common sense, part of it is the fact that, out of all of them, he still has absolutely no idea what _he_ wants.

Part of it is the fact that he looks like _that_ and sounds like _that_ and seems to really enjoy flustering the hell out of him.

“There we go,” the snake murmurs when he says to hell with it and takes his hand, using it to pull him close, “would you believe me if I said I didn’t intend for this to happen?”

“'Believe me if I said.’ Hmmm. Yeah no.”

The snake _laughs_. Like, properly laughs. Throws his head back and has to put a hand to his torso and everything. Oh, oh wow. Of course, it makes him even more attractive. Bastard.

When he stops, he waves his hand. “Alright, let me rephrase: having the rest of them immediately agree to keep you was not at the forefront of my mind when you first fell into the garden.”

“Wh-why did that happen?”

The shake in his voice seems to sober him. The snake laces their fingers together and presses his palm against his chest, as he did with the prince’s. “We are all connected,” he says softly, “at a base level. We can communicate through it if necessary, almost like the telepathy mortals believe in.”

“So…”

“When I held your hand against the prince, I pushed.” He pushes his hand a little firmer against his chest, close enough for him to feel the powerful heartbeat beneath. “When the rest of them felt your pain…well. I wasn’t lying when I said they never could resist a damsel in distress.

“I do wish you hadn’t kept that sharp tongue to yourself for so long,” he muses, “it almost makes me wish I hadn’t flustered you so badly to begin with.”

A touch of gloved fingers under his chin and oh god, not this again. “Well,” the snake purrs, his eyes gleaming, “ _almost_.”

V’s able to look at him for all of three seconds before he has to look away, blushing panic mounting.

“Is it truly so easy, little mouse?” the snake laughs, “must I simply look at you in a certain way and you’ll fluster?”

“E _nough_ ,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You _can_ open your eyes now, darling,” the snake says, still chuckling slightly, “you needn’t worry.”

“Eye contact is the _actual_ worst and you will not convince me otherwise,” he mutters.

He gives him a gentle smile and taps the underside of his chin. “Then I suppose me asking you to keep them closed was a good thing, hmm?”

There…there’s something else bothering him. V opens his mouth to ask but…it’s kind of an invasive question. And he _really_ doesn’t want to piss him off. Especially not now.

“It’s going to be an awfully tiring existence if you can’t work up the courage to ask anything, little mouse,” comes the gentle encouragement.

“Wh…why did the prince say you were the hardest to convince?”

“Did you happen to catch when the duke called Pat the ‘heart?’” When he nods, he smiles. “Clever boy. It’s an apt description. Each one of us has a…different function. I am the Gatekeeper.”

_Gatekeeper_.

“It is my job to ensure the barrier between our two races is held,” the snake continues, “to be cautious…about any sort of interaction. As you might have been able to guess, the others are…much more receptive to humans than perhaps they should be. The rules are in place for a reason, and I am the one who helped put them there. This is not the first time they have tried to keep a mortal. And the prince is right, I am the hardest to convince. I have never let them keep a mortal before, not like this, despite whatever claims the others may have made, despite how they try and use those claims to influence me.”

The snake pulls him closer still, the hand holding his stroking it gently. “But I found you first. And my claim is the strongest.”

Oh.

_Oh_.

“… _you_ wanted to keep me,” he breathes.

The snake softens for perhaps the first time since he laid his hand over his eyes.

“Why do you look so scared?”

_Really? Are you absolutely fucking serious?_

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmurs, still cupping his hand against his chest, “none of us are.”

“Yes, and I’m sure that one sentence is supposed to counteract the rest of the incredibly overwhelming things I’ve had to deal with today. How incredibly irrational of me to believe otherwise.”

“There’s that wonderfully sharp tongue again.” He tilts his head. “Perhaps that was the wrong word…you look unsure.”

V huffs. “Because there’s nothing about this to be unsure of.”

V knows tearing himself away from him probably comes off as rude. V knows turning his back is probably a bad idea. V knows burying his hands in his hair is going to hurt.

V does it anyway.

“V—“

“Why do you want to keep me,” he blurts out before the snake can finish. Ge whirls around to see the snake freeze, reaching for him. “ _Why_?”

The snake frowns. “Does it matter?”

“ _Of course it fucking matters,_ I don’t know what you _want_ and I can’t—if I don’t know what you want then I can’t do anything and nothing the fae ever does is for free and I don’t know what you _want_ and I—I don’t know how this happened and I just wanted to run _away_ —“

Oh god, oh god, he’s yelling, fuck fuck fuck he fucked up—

Why is he on the ground? When did that happen?

Right. Huddle. Small. Hedgehog. Scary things. Be as small as you can because scary things, why are scary things?

Fae. Right, he’s yelling at a fae.

_Oh, fuck he’s yelling at a fae._

Small. Just be small. Hide. Just hide and be small.

It’s cold. It’s so cold.

Then it isn’t.

“Shh…shh…there, there, don’t be so afraid, I’m not here to be cruel to you, shh…shh…”

“W-wha—“

“Shh…breathe first,” the snake murmurs, his hand hovering over his shoulder, “I’m not going to touch you until you can breathe properly. Nice and slow, come now…”

The dark clouds keep rolling, thicker and thicker, building and building until they crash so loudly in his ears. V presses his fists to his ears, hearing voices doubling, tripling, yelling, screaming, _they hate you they hate you you’re pathetic you’re cursed they hate you—_

“I’m right here, I won’t let anything hurt you…”

Lighthing flashes and the voices howl. V whimpers, curling in on himself.

“You’re overwhelmed, little mouse, I know…just breathe and then we can figure everything out…”

Something…something’s covering him. There’s something covering him. He opens his mouth to ask wha—

“Shh-shh-shh, don’t try to speak just yet, you’re still shaking.”

The snake…the snake is covering him. The clouds lighten and he…he can breathe again.

It’s…it’s raining? Is that why his face feels wet?

“…oh, oh you’re crying, my darling…shh…is it too much?”

It hurts. He’s so cold. He’s so cold, the snake is so warm.

“As I’m sure L would tell you, crying is the mortal response to any situation that’s overwhelming. It’s just you trying to cope with everything, let it out, sweetie, it’s okay…”

V’s brain comes back online as the snake reaches out to tenderly wipe his cheeks, catching his tears as they fall. He’s looking at his hand, brow furrowed, leaving V to stare helplessly at his face. It’s so much easier without eye contact, so much easier.

The snake holds him firmly, crouched as they are on the ground. It…it feels…safe?

He catches V’s gaze and tilts his head. He…he can’t look away but he’s not…the snake’s not doing whatever it was he was doing before. He just looks…soft.

“What is it, darling?”

“What,” he croaks, “do you _want_?”

“You are small,” he says, “broken, hated…lost, abandoned, persecuted.”

He wipes away another tear.

“And you are kind. Hopelessly and relentlessly kind.” He lightly pats his chest. “When I looked to see what you wanted, when you stumbled into the garden, I saw pain. I saw heartbreak. And you…you didn’t want vengeance, no, you just wanted it to _stop_.”

He shifts his weight, still holding him firm.

“You are lost in darkness and you are so _afraid_ , my darling…so afraid,” he whispers, “you want to be safe, don’t you?”

He nods.

“Is it so hard to believe that I want you safe? So hard to believe—” he catches another tear on his thumb— “that you are wanted?”

“What use is a broken mortal?”

“Why must a wanted thing have a use?”

“What fae makes a useless trade?”

“What mortal doesn’t accept a free gift?”

“What fae gives something f _or free_?”

“What hurt caused this suspicion?”

V’s mouth clamps shut. The snake stares at him, unblinking, unyielding.

“If I weren’t fae,” he says finally, “would you still be this afraid?”

“…yes.”

The snake inhales sharply. his eyes widen when he sees a rising tide of terrible fury, there for just a second, _just_ a second, before the snake breathes out and it disappears.

And that, that split-second of rage, is enough. Enough to reach deep into the anxious mess of his brain and start to say maybe, just maybe, he might actually be safe. If…if the wrath of the fae is between him and the rest of the world, then…then maybe he’s safe.

“Perhaps the Duke had the right idea,” the snake murmurs.

“Going feral?”

“Mm.” He cups V’s face in his hands, pushing his fury away and replacing it with that same soft patience from before. “What is it that is making you so afraid?”

“I…I don’t know you. I’ve never interacted with any of…your kind before, ever. You—when I first showed up, you—“ he swallows— “you seemed to _really_ enjoy making me as uncomfortable as you could. Then there were so many of you and I was freaking out one moment and being calmed the next and now you’re doing something for me and I’ve given you _nothing_ and you’re—“

_Nope. Nope, nope, nope, not saying that out loud._

“I’m…what?”

V shakes his head, pressing his lips together firmly. Fuck, his face is burning again.

“Come on,” the snake coaxes, letting him break his grip and look away, “what were you going to say?”

“…pretty.”

The snake tilts his chin back up, not saying anything about his eyes being shut again. “A little louder?”

“Pretty.”

He braces for the teasing, the flirting, but it doesn’t come.

“Look at me, V.”

“Is that strictly necessary?”

The snake chuckles. “I must insist.” He smiles kindly when he looks at him. “There…I did say I wouldn’t fluster you too badly.”

“You said that _before_ you and the prince did…that thing.”

“Ah, yes, I did, didn’t I?” The snake cups his chin carefully. “I admit, when you came in I wanted to play with you. Toy with you until you told me what you wanted and then…well, send you on your way. But then…then I cast upon you and I couldn’t.

“I made that claim, _this_ claim, because the garden responded to you. Most mortals can’t stay in the garden for long without being sucked under completely or driven insane. You melded with the magic in the air and it bound itself to you. And when I looked, I saw it. It’s one of the reasons I pushed you into the prince, into the others. They felt it too, I’m sure of it.”

The snake lifts his hand, faint golden sparks floating around his glove.

“Unlike the others, as Gatekeeper, I am tied most directly to the garden. That’s why I’m the hardest to convince. The garden wants you, V. _I_ want you.”

He leans closer. “Don’t you see?”

V sees. He brings his hand closer and he starts to glow. As Pat said, he’s got little bits of color shining off of him. Red, deep blue, and light blue glow from his head, fading into a rich green the lower he looks. And the whole thing is bathed in a rich, deep gold.

“And for the record?” The snake leans forward, kissing his cheek, burning soft. “You’re pretty too.”

_Shit_.

“Oh, come _on_ ,” the snake laughs, “I wasn’t even _trying_ that time.”

“I’m just really bad at receiving compliments, okay?”

“You are _adorable_.”

“ _Hey_!”

“You _are_ , sweetie, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, just accept it.” He chucks him lightly under the chin. “I imagine not many people have complimented you, have they?”

“No.”

“Well, I would prepare yourself. The others certainly will, as you may have guessed.”

Right, he’s staying here. With them. They’re…they’re going to look after him. They’re going to keep him.

He’s safe.

He looks up to see the snake looking fondly at him.

“If I compliment your smile, will that make you stop?”

“Probably.”

“Then I won’t.”

He swallows. This is a bad idea. This is such a bad idea. “…thank you.”

“Oh, I’ll compliment you on other things.”

“No… _thank you._ ”

His grin widens. “You’re welcome, V.”

_Well, I’ve broken the glass, I might as well push the button._

He licks his lips. “Virgil.”

The snake tilts his head, his brow furrowed. “What?”

Staring at him, determined to keep eye contact, he steels himself. “ _Virgil_.”

The snake looks confused a moment longer before realization dawns and a smirk crawls over his face. But it’s not the shameless flirty one, nor is it dangerous and full of fury. It’s…it’s the smirk you’d make if you were a little unsure about what was happening.

“Careful, darling,” he murmurs, “don’t you know how dangerous it is to give your name to a fae?”

“You’re already keeping me,” he says, “aren’t you?”

The smirk turns into a warm smile. “Yes. Yes, we are, Virgil.”

Oh, oh yep. Yep, that was definitely a bad idea because him saying his name in that voice…

Judging by the change in his eyes, he’s realized it too.

“And here you are,” he purrs, adjusting his grip, “all wrapped up in my arms.”

He whines. “What happened to not flustering me too badly?”

“I can’t help it, _Virgil_ , you’re simply too easy, my darling,” the snake chuckles, “but I’ll stop. Just for now. Wouldn’t do to have you getting too overwhelmed, now, would it?”

“After all,” he says, gentling his tone and pulling him into a proper cuddle, “we’ve got all of eternity, don’t we?”

He’s warm. He’s so warm. There are hands on his head, around his back, around his waist, he smells of spice and pine. There’s a mouth next to his ear.

“J.”

“Hmm?”

He tilts his head up to look at him. “ _J_.”

Oh.

_Oh_.

“…thank you, J.”

“You’re welcome, Virgil.”


	2. Patton

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mortals have always been fascinating creatures for Patton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah this has multiple chapters now!!! yay!! they probably won't all be as long as the first one??? but yeah more things. imma do my best to stick to a schedule but honestly who knows at this point

Mortals have always been fascinating creatures for Patton.

They have so many…quaint little ideas about what they can do about things and such _interesting_ ways of thinking about it. Some of them believe that they float in this strange grey area, using that to defend choices that harm or hurt other people. Some of them believe they were sent here with a purpose and they must fulfill it. Some of them don’t think at all.

It’s _fascinating,_ but then…when your life is confined to a mere century, Patton supposes everything must seem so…heavy.

A shriek interrupts his thinking and he barely has time to step aside before a blast of magic swirls past him.

  
“Watch where you’re pointing that thing!” He puts his hands on his hips. “Now, who threw that?”

He rolls his eyes fondly when the prince and the duke point at each other.

“Kiddos, not that I don’t appreciate your enthusiasm,” he says, creating a quick shield between them and the portal so anymore, um, ‘misfires’ don’t accidentally get through, “but do you even know what you’re doing?”

“You ask as if they _ever_ know what they’re doing,” L mutters.

“Oh, please,” the prince huffs, “I am _always_ in complete control.”

“Falsehood.”

“That’s right,” the duke grins, “sometimes it’s _my_ turn.”

“We are not making the mortal live at the bottom of the lake!” The prince smacks his forehead with his hand. “The furniture would be absolutely positively destroyed!”

“And mortals cannot breathe underwater.”

“That too!”

“Ugh, you guys are so _boring,_ ” the duke huffs, “that’s the _point!_ Then no one else would be able to get him! Plus,” he adds with a grin, “we could have so much more _fun._ ”

“I find it highly unlikely that the mortal’s definition of ‘fun’ and _your_ definition have significant overlap,” L says.

“Well, then we’ll just have to change that.” The duke claps. “The bottom of the lake it is!”

“It is _not!_ ”

“Is too!”

Patton and L quickly step back as the twins start squabbling again. L shakes his head disparagingly as the prince summons a sword. “We aren’t going to let them do this, are we?”

“No,” Patton agrees, “but they’ve got a point.”

“Well, the prince _does_ make an effort to sharpen his blade on a regular schedule.” When Patton opens his mouth to clarify, L continues. “But I do not believe we have a grasp of how to create a residence for a mortal either.”

“I know.” Patton absentmindedly rubs his wrists, still feeling the aftershocks of the visions pushed into their bond.

It hurt. It had burned in a way that nothing ever had for a _long_ time. And for a fae, that can be a very long time indeed.

Dropping his work to clutch at his chest, hunched over from the weight of what he’d felt had been agony on its own, and he’d dashed out to find the others, needing to know _what hurts, what happened, please, tell me so I can fix it,_ only to find none of them, fearing the worst. Having to walk into the garden to see the others already huddled around a mortal—a _mortal,_ the duke wrapped around them with everything but the tentacles. Having to be the one to say _no,_ his own heart tearing to pieces with every word he utters, the feeling of the mortal trembling in his hold, the tension and fear brimming off of their skin, almost burning Patton’s hands. Feeling the horrible sick rush of terror when the other animals bumbled into the forest.

Hearing just what they thought of V.

After that, well…Patton hadn’t cared much about the rules anymore.

And honestly, considering _who_ it was that pushed the visions in the first place, Patton’s not sure he ever stood much of a chance.

But one of the things about breaking the rules is that, well, there are no rules. There are no guidelines now, no strict set of things to follow. And when it comes to mortals, that can be almost as dangerous.

“Look out!”

“Wait, shit—“

“ _Pat!_ ”

Patton blinks and suddenly the others are tackling him out of the way of another errant magic blast. As his brain desperately tries to connect the path from standing to being on the floor, L scowls.

“You two need to stop,” he says sternly, “we only have a few minutes before V comes through and if he sees this, it’s likely he will not wish to remain.”

“Sorry,” the prince murmurs, helping everyone up, “and sorry to you too, Duke.”

“Eh,” the duke says, brushing himself off, “we’ve done worse.”

“Yes,” L mumbles, “yes, you have.”

“L,” Patton says once everyone’s righted themselves, “did you manage to get a good grasp of the place?”

L nods. “It seems to be the small village in the northwest corner of the forest. The population is around two hundred. It is…unlikely that the land holds any significant powers.”

“Hmph,” the prince grumbles, lifting his hand obediently, “such a lack of creativity.”

In front of them, a village forms. Several houses line a small street, each with a slightly different size and shape. Behind them are ramshackle sheds, worn fences, and in the middle, a slightly larger building. Patton isn’t sure what the mortals use this one for, but it is considerably…shinier than the others.

“I suppose it is quite…” L struggles for the right word. “…plain.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” the duke sniffs, “where are you supposed to _do_ anything?”

“Now, kiddos,” Patton says, “this isn’t about what we want, it’s about what V wants.”

“And you think he wants something blander than a piece of dead wood?”

“Hey!” The duke smacks the prince upside the head. “Dead wood is _great,_ thank you very much.”

“I said _blander than a piece of dead wood,_ you bumbling buffoon.”

“It’s what he’s used to,” Patton says quickly before they can dissolve into another squabble, “it’s better to go slow, right?”

“We have already seen that V can be overwhelmed very easily,” L agrees, “it might be best to…start blander.”

“ _Fine._ ”

And not a moment too soon, it seems, because the portal begins to glow. Patton turns around to see V step through, followed closely by J.

“Glad you made it, kiddo,” Patton smiles, “we’ve been waiting for you!”

His eyes widen and his chest clenches when V’s body seizes with terror and he freezes, still halfway out of the portal. J nudges him gently and V whimpers, wrapping his arms tightly around himself and baring his teeth in a snarl.

“Hey, hey, kiddo,” Patton murmurs quickly, starting towards him, only to freeze when V shrinks back, “okay, okay, I’m stopping. I’m right here, okay? I’m not gonna get any closer.”

He crouches down, keeping his hands raised, feeling the others adopt similar positions of surrender. V’s gaze is still fixed on the houses, his body seemingly torn between wanting to turn and flee and never wanting to move again. Patton’s heart clenches when V’s breaths start to get faster and faster, the air whining in protest as it whips in and out of his lungs.

“V,” J murmurs, “ _V,_ listen to me.”

V’s head barely jerks.

“Come on, little one, just listen to me, you can close your eyes if you have to.”

Patton watches, a strange cocktail of relief and envy as J bends closer, whispering into V’s ear too low for the rest of them to possibly hear, one of his hands hovering just over V’s opposite shoulder. V’s eyes squeeze shut and slowly, _slowly,_ he relaxes, his chin dropping to his chest. J continues to murmur soft words until finally V draws in a deep, _slow_ breath and his arms finally loosen their death grip.

J looks at V with such a look of concern that it makes Patton wince in sympathy, only soothed when V gives him a tight nod. J straightens, still hovering protectively around V, and turns his attention to the others, the soft look of worry quickly morphing into stone.

“Explain.”

“We attempted to recreate the village,” L says, “in order to…not overwhelm V so quickly.”

J glances down at V then back up. “ _Yes,_ and I can see that worked out _stunningly.”_

“I don’t understand.” L looks back and forth between the village and the still-shaken V. “If…if the environment is familiar, it should elicit feelings of comfort.”

“Oh, no,” Patton murmurs, closing his eyes for a moment, “I messed up.”

“Don’t worry,” the prince says quickly, “it’s okay, we’ll—we’ll figure it out.”

“I think I understand.” Patton opens his eyes and looks up at V. “You thought this was a trick, didn’t you? That we’d pretended to take you in and then…brought you back.”

The very idea coils hot and heavy in his gut, settling there like a horrible sickly weight. It only draws itself deeper when V nods, his mouth drawn tight.

“What?” The prince’s cry shakes Patton’s core. “Why would—“

Patton holds up a hand, cutting him off, even though he can feel the anguish of the others burning through the bond. Even J isn’t immune; the hand on V’s shoulder flexes in the glove and he steps a little closer.

“And even if we didn’t,” Patton says brokenly, “even if we didn’t you—these…the only feelings you have about this place aren’t good ones.”

V lowers his head in shame, his fingers flexing in the fabric of his tunic. The urge to run and wrap him up in a tight embrace makes Patton’s limbs tremble.

“Get rid of it.”

“What?”

“Get rid of it,” Patton murmurs firmly to the prince, “bring us back to the field.”

“N-no!”

Patton’s eyes widen in surprise, and judging by J’s confused head tilt, he’s not the only one. Yet there V is, staring at him with a fierce look of determination, fire burning in his gaze despite the way he’s still curled around himself.

“…’no,’ kiddo?”

Patton knows he’s made another mistake the instant V’s eyes widen again. “W-wait, I didn’t mean—you don’t—that was a s-suggestion, not a—I didn’t mean to—I don’t want—“

V’s hands shoot to his hair, tangling in the strands and _pulling._

“I didn’t mean to tell you what to do,” he manages finally, “please don’t be angry.”

_Oh, kiddo…_

“V,” Patton calls softly, “kiddo, we’re not angry.”

He smiles kindly when V peeks out at him from a little gap in his fingers. “Y-you’re not?”

“No, V, we’re not angry.” Patton places one hand flat against his chest. “You have my word.”

It seems to do the trick, though not nearly as well as he would’ve liked. V’s hands slowly inch away from his face, twisting themselves back into his tunic. Patton smiles encouragingly.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he assures, “I’m just a little curious why you didn’t want the village gone. If it’s…if it’s bothering you, then…”

Patton shrugs. “Wouldn’t it be better?”

“But you already…made it,” V mumbles, “so…”

The prince huffs. “Please. It took barely a moment. I do hope you don’t think so _lowly_ of my skills, sweetheart.”

The corner of V’s mouth tugs up and _oh,_ it’s the best thing Patton’s seen all day!

“It’s no trouble,” the prince assures, “plus…I must confess I am _not_ a fan. I mean honestly, the utter lack of _craftsmanship,_ it’s truly astonishing.”

“The point of this,” L says, making V look at him, “was to create somewhere you would feel more comfortable. This place—“ he gestures around— “was not exactly designed for mortals.”

“But we shouldn’t have tried to anticipate what you want,” Patton adds, “and so there’s nothing wrong with getting rid of the village.”

“Y-you mean _this_ one…right?”

“Well,” the duke mutters darkly. Patton can’t find it in his heart to scold him more than half-heartedly.

“P-please don’t,” V stammers, “I…”

“We won’t,” Patton assures, far more concerned about making V feel comfortable than any sort of retribution—however rightly deserved—for the denizens of the village.

“Even if the duke _does_ have a point, little mouse.”

Patton glances exasperatedly at J, only to be met with an expression of innocent bewilderment. He raises an eyebrow. J simply shrugs. Patton’s gaze gets caught by V, still shifting a little and sending quick glances at the village.

_More pressing matters._

“V,” he murmurs, smiling again when V’s gaze jumps to his, “is it alright if I come a little closer?”

J’s brow quirks as V stiffens.

“It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you. You’re gonna be okay. I promise.”

V doesn't move, still wrapping his arms tightly around himself.

“I’m sorry I scared you, that we scared you with this,” he continues, looking behind him to see agreeing nods from the others. He looks back to see V’s gaze losing a little of its frenzied edge. He smiles and gives a little wave. “Hey there.”

V doesn’t wave back or smile, but he doesn’t flinch either. Patton takes that as a good sign.

“You’re allowed to say no, V,” he assures, “that’s okay too.”

Nothing. Patton’s gaze flicks to J and J nods.

“What about this,” Patton says softly, “why don’t I move real slow, just a little, just so you can see how it feels, and then we go from there?”

V nods.

“I’m stepping a little closer, okay?” V lets him move a step closer. He crouches down again, keeping his hands in sight, still a good few feet away. “How are you doing, kiddo?”

Patton laughs when V’s able to convey his annoyance with the question with a subtle change of expression. “Okay, so, bad question. Can I…” He hesitates. “Can come a little closer? Is that okay?”

V nods carefully. “Y-you can—“ He cuts himself off.

“Say it,” Patton coaxes, “go on, V, you can say it.”

“You can…come all the way over,” V mumbles, “i-if you want.”

Patton fights down the urge to jump up and race over, instead confining himself to a small smile.

“Okay. I’m going to stand up and walk over to you. I’ll go slow so I won’t scare you. Okay?” V nods. “Okay. I’m going to stand up now.”

He keeps his hands raised and slowly stands up, keeping himself slightly hunched over to make himself seem like less of a threat. To his dismay, but not his surprise, it isn’t very effective. Even hunched over, Patton still looms quite large, his shadow blocking the light from the forest. When he notices V flinching, he stops, letting him get used to the fact that he’s standing now.

“Easy, easy, it’s okay.” He keeps up the constant litany of reassurances until he reaches V, carefully positioning himself so that V can look at _him,_ just him, and not the village. It seems to do the trick, interrupting whatever feedback loop kept darting V’s gaze around the buildings, instead directing it at the various patched on Patton’s cloak.

“You’re doing great, kiddo,” Patton murmurs, “thank you for letting me come over.”

V shuffles again, sniffing and dropping his head. A moment later his shoulders shake and Patton can’t help the wounded noise that escapes his throat. J isn’t much better off, sliding neatly behind V to prevent anything from getting through the portal, even though they both know nothing will touch this one _ever again._

“Sweetheart,” Patton says softly, “oh, sweetie, are…is this still too much?”

“S-sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, sweetie, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“And please,” L calls, “do not be ashamed of crying. It is the mortal way of handling _anything_ overwhelming, you need not feel embarrassed about dealing with it in a healthy way.”

“Told you,” J murmurs.

“Can I touch you, sweetie,” Patton asks softly, “can I touch you?”

V nods shakily and Patton reaches out, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Here you are. Shh, you’re okay.” He moves his hand from her shoulder to his cheeks, wiping away a tear as it rolls down. “I’m here, it’s okay.”

V hiccups a sob, barely stifled. Each one settles like a dead weight in his chest as V’s chin drives deeper and deeper into his chest.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” Patton says, gently cupping V’s chin in his hand and raising it, only to be dismayed to see his eyes glazed over and each breath sending him hurtling towards another panic attack. He takes his hands and places them on either side of V’s face, turning his head so he makes eye contact with him. “Hey, hey. Look at me, kiddo. Breathe.”

The forest is quiet.

“Shh, that’s it, just breathe for me.” He slides his hands down from V’s face to his neck, giving him a little less restriction.

“Good job,” he murmurs, smiling at V as he begins to go limp. “Come here.”

He coaxes V into his arms, letting his head fall against his collar as he shifts back to support his weight. He’s so… _there._ Not just in his body, a physical weight, but there’s such a layer of _feeling_ that surrounds him that it presses down on Patton like another weight. He relaxes into Patton’s grip as he guides V to rest comfortably against him. He rubs V’s arms when he shivers, frowning at how cold he is. Steadying V with his hands and glancing up at J, he balances V against him before pulling away enough to shrug off his cloak, hushing him when V lets out a tiny whine. “Shh, kiddo, I’m not going anywhere. He’ll keep you upright.”

He wriggles out of his cloak and drapes it carefully over V’s shoulders, smiling as it draws a sigh out of him and he shrinks under it. Wrapping his arms back around V, Patton lays his chin on top of V’s head and _concentrates,_ trying to feel around for the sources of the fear and pull them away. V tucks his head against Patton’s collarbone. A damp patch grows on Patton’s shirt as he rocks V gently back and forth, shushing his cries.

“Shh, don’t worry kiddo, we’re here for you,” he murmurs, “it’s okay.”

He closes his eyes. _Concentrates._

_There._

“What are these,” he whispers, mostly to himself but to V as well, “these awful little things that are buzzing around you?”

They really are awful. They’re these fuzzy little black things that hurt if you stare at them too long, always vibrating, strobing at horrible frequencies that create a sort of whine in the back of your ears. On their own, they really aren’t so bad, at least when he can catch one of them by itself, but V…

V has _thousands._

Thousands of horrible black whiny clouds buzzing around his head, around his whole body, swallowing him in a storm. Patton’s seen them before, not nearly to this quantity mind you, but he has seen them, flitting about behind mortals. Wretched little beasties.

“Are these…fears?” He freezes one in place, watching as it squirms in place. “Worries?”

_Concentrate._

The cloud whines and dissolves. V’s breath catches.

“There’s no need for these,” Patton murmurs, catching another one and dissolving it, “you have no use for them.”

One by one he catches them, and one by one he makes them stop hurting V. They don’t want to go; they cling to each other, to V, to him in protest, yowling about whatever they want V to be so _desperately_ afraid of, and it never makes Patton bat an eye. They’re hurting V, that’s all that matters. And Patton doesn’t like seeing V hurt.

With each one he vanishes, V grows lighter and lighter in his arms, his sobs trailing off until his breath evens, only hitching ever so slightly. When he’s finished, V pulls away, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“W-what did you do?”

Patton smiles, gently giving V a squeeze. “Just cleaned you up a bit, kiddo.”

“H-how?”

“I can sense emotions and feelings,” Patton explains, “it’s kinda my job.”

“…you’re the Heart.”

“I am, good job.” He bumps his forehead lightly against V’s. “That means I can sense things that you feel and…help you along.”

V chews on his lip. “…but I’m still scared.”

“Oh, kiddo, I can’t fix _that_ sort of thing. Well, I _can,_ but that’s…invasive,” Patton says, “and I’d run the risk of hurting you more. No, no, I didn’t do anything like that. I’m not trying to take your feelings away. I just…”

He brushes a thumb tenderly across V’s cheek.

“…dusted you off a little.”

The fluffy little bubble of relief that drifts along the path his thumb leaves is enough to make his whole chest glow.

“Feel better?”

“Yeah,” V mumbles, “um…thank you.”

Patton kisses his forehead. “Of course, kiddo. Now…can we talk about what just happened?”

V tenses.

“You can say no,” J reminds.

“…no, please?”

Patton nods. “Okay. Can _I_ then ask you something?”

V nods, shifting a little in Patton’s grip. Patton opens his arms a little, enough for V to know if he wants to pull away he can, if he doesn’t, he needn’t. V takes a step back, wrapping his arms around himself.

“We wanted to make the village for you so that you would have somewhere you wanted to stay,” he says softly, “and it’s okay that we got it wrong. Could you tell us what you _do_ want?”

“I’d be happy to make it,” the prince calls from over his shoulder—right, he’d somehow forgotten the others were still here— “just say the word.”

“Me too!”

“You guys,” V mumbles, “are the weirdest fucking fae I’ve ever heard of.”

Patton giggles. “Thanks, kiddo. That’s an honor.”

“…is it?”

Patton softens, waiting for V to look at him to smile kindly. “It isn’t bad to be different _or_ weird, sweetie.”

“…oh.”

“So,” the prince calls cheerfully, “what will it be? Castle? Tower? Cavernous ballrooms?”

“Prince,” L chides lightly.

“Take your time,” Patton soothes when V’s eyes blink vacantly, “you take all the time you need kiddo, to tell us what you want.”

And _oh,_ the unsure look on V’s face breaks his heart all over again. He looks so _lost,_ like he’s been confronted with something he can’t _hope_ to understand.

“It’s alright if you don’t know,” he says softly, “it’s a lot to ask. But if it would be easier, you can tell us what you _don’t_ want.”

“…I don’t want to go back,” V mumbles, “ _please_ don’t make me go back.”

“We won’t,” Patton promises, “we won’t.”

Sure enough, by the time he’s stepped aside and turned around, the village is gone.

The prince waves his hand again, dimming the natural light of the forest to something more tolerable for mortal eyes. Patton smiles. He _does_ prefer their forest to any manufactured illusions, the prince or the duke make, if simply because it feels so _alive._

V seems to relax a little bit too; when Patton looks back, V’s shoulders aren’t pressed up against his ears anymore, his gaze tracing the little sparks of light that flit between the flowering trees. One of them flickers closer, darting past his face quickly, only for him to tentatively try and reach for it.

“…what is this?”

“It’s the forest, V,” Patton says softly, “this is where we live.”

“How is it so…” V seems to struggle for the word he wants. “… _alive?”_

“Magic,” the prince says with a wink. “No, really. That’s…that’s it.”

“But it’s so…so…” V mutters in frustration. “I hate words.”

“You’re not the only one, little mouse,” J murmurs, his hand still lingering on V’s shoulder, “words can be…difficult. You don’t have to use them if you don’t want to.”

“That being said,” Patton says quickly, “you don’t have to be afraid to say things, kiddo. We won’t get mad.”

V nods hesitantly. “Wait, so you all live here?”

“Yep.”

“H-how does that work? Do you, like…have separate…trees?”

The duke _immediately_ perks up. “I _told_ you guys we should make treehouses!”

“You have a treehouse,” L sighs, “that doesn’t mean the rest of us want one.”

“Why not? It’s so much easier to defend!”

“Only when we can’t fly.”

“You guys can _fly?”_ Patton hears V mumble to J. “What is going _on?_ ”

“The others are getting excited again,” he hears J murmur back, “but I’m sure if you’d like to just ask Pat, we’d be happy to tell you.”

Patton gives L a look that says ‘try not to let them destroy everything, please,’ and turns back to V, gently asking if he’d repeat his question.

“We have different…rooms,” he decides on eventually, “even though they’re not as simple as your mortal conception of them. It’s more like…like…”

Patton huffs, putting his hands on his hips. “Wow, words really _are_ hard.”

“Here here,” V mumbles.

“Let me try,” J says softly, “it’s as if you have a picture, yes? And the picture is drawn over several sheets of paper. You can only view the _complete_ picture by stacking all of them on top of each other, but you can take each piece of paper separately.”

Patton blinks at him. V does too. J rolls his eyes. “Perhaps L would be able to explain it better. And quickly,” he says, glancing over Patton’s shoulder, it looks like they’re about to start fighting again.”

“Guys!” Patton chooses to ignore the duke tucking a rather large weapon behind his back. “How do we explain how our rooms work?”

L adjusts his glasses and holds out his hand. “V? Will you come here, please?”

V hesitates.

“I won’t hurt you,” L assures, “I won’t even touch you if you don’t want. I simply think this will be the best way to explain it.”

“You’re not—you won’t—you won’t just _take_ me there, will you?”

L smiles at V’s nervous question. “You have my word I won’t.”

V crosses the forest slowly, stopping just in front of L’s outstretched hand. Slowly, L raises his hand to face his palm toward V. “Can you hold your hand up to mine, please?”

“W-what’re you going to do to me?”

“Not a thing,” L says softly, “I’m going to explain how the rooms work by cycling through different layers of reality by aligning our hands.”

Patton watches V slowly raise his hand to match L’s, smiling at how he presses his palm to L’s firmly.

“Now,” L says, “just hold it still for me?” V nods. “Good. Reality as _you_ understand it is one layer. It is one of the multiple worlds that exist in the same space. In this forest, we can move between them.”

“How?”

“Each one of us—“ L gestures to the other fae— “are linked with one of the layers. By drawing on that power, we can move between them.”

L turns his hand slightly, his index finger pressing up against V’s middle finger. “This would be a different layer.”

He turns it again, replacing his index finger with his thumb. “And this, another.”

“S-so,” V murmurs, squinting at their hands, “which one is this?”

“It’s not quite as…linear as this example,” L says, “there isn’t a set ‘right’ layer, nor must you travel through the other layers to get to the one you want.”

“But then—“

“Go on,” L encourages when V cuts himself off, “then…?”

V swallows, his voice so low Patton has to strain to hear it. “Then how do I know which one’s the _right_ one?”

J tenses beside Patton at the uncertainty in V’s voice.

“There isn’t a universal ‘right’ one, V, and there won’t be,” L says, quickly shushing V when he seems to react poorly to such a revelation, “but you don’t have to think of it that way.”

Judging by the defiant hunch of V’s shoulders, he isn’t pleased by this answer. L seems to realize that and takes a tiny step closer.

“V? Can you do something else for me?”

V nods.

“Interlace your fingers with mine.”

V raises his head, confused, but does as L asks.

“This,” L murmurs, indicating their hands, “is the layer we’re currently in. _Your_ layer. The mortal layer. This is the one that will be most comfortable for you. You can go to the other layers, but it won’t always be as comfortable. That doesn’t mean you can’t go,” he assures quickly, “but if it helps, _this_ one is the ‘right’ one, so to speak.”

V stares at their clasped hands, giving L’s hand an experimental squeeze. L squeezes back.

“C-can I see your rooms?”

“Of course,” L says, “but perhaps not today, hm? This has already been a lot for you, hasn’t it?”

V nods nervously. “S-sorry.”

“Don’t fret,” L soothes, giving V’s hand one last squeeze, “we’re not angry. It’s perfectly understandable.”

“Absolutely.” Patton glances around. Hmm…what’s the best way to do this? “Are you hungry, V?”

Another nervous nod.

“What kind of food do you like?”

“Maybe not that question,” J murmurs when V seems to stutter again.

L gently gets V’s attention. “When was the last time you ate?” When V can’t answer, he continues. “Your system won’t take well to eating large quantities of food right now, in that case. It would be better if you ate something small, easy on yourself, and then work up to larger meals, does that sound alright?”

“Why don’t we do this, then,” Patton suggests when V nods, “J, you and the duke and I will start on the food. L, Prince, why don’t you help V make his room?”

L gently takes V’s hand again, leading him toward the prince. The prince gives them a nod before speaking softly to V. Patton sinks into his room, only to lean on the nearest surface and sigh heavily.

“ _Why are we not killing them?”_

“By all means,” J huffs, “ _do_ knock over absolutely everything, Duke.”

“They _starved_ him, they _tortured_ him, _they made him afraid of everything,_ ” the duke growls, “they made him _dependent_ on the sense of right and wrong.”

“Yes, and right now you’re currently about to be dependent on your ability to _not_ knock over everything.”

“Pat agrees with me,” the duke defends, “don’t you Pat?”

Patton busies himself with making a simple bread. Easy, like L said, nothing that will cause V’s system to freak out. He keeps his mouth closed because he knows if he opens it, he won’t be able to stop himself going feral either.

“Of course I agree,” he says quietly after the bread’s almost done, “but I want to take care of V more than I want to raze that village to the ground.”

“But—!”

“Patton’s right,” J interrupts, “V wants everything to _stop._ If we go out and do that, it could make him even worse.”

“Or it could make him better!”

“We can’t afford to take that risk,” Patton says, kneading the bread with perhaps _slightly_ more force than necessary, “especially not with a mortal.”

The duke grumbles. “I don’t like this.”

“I know.” Patton dusts his hands off. “Neither do we.”

“If it’s any consolation,” J says, smirking, “I think it’s the first time V’s had _anyone_ be so outraged at the thought of him hurt.”

“Well,” the duke huffs, “good. I’m not stopping.”

“I have no intention of asking you to.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Patton chuckles, rolling his eyes fondly. “Enough, you two.”

“You need help?” The duke grins. “Get it? _Knead?_ ”

“No, I _dough-_ n’t,” Patton replies as J groans, “I’m all good here, kiddo. Thanks for asking though.”

J eyes the small loaf of bread and the few fruits next to it. “Is that really all we’re going to give him?”

“I’m going to make sure the food is available, but…” Patton sighs. “L’s right. You know he is. Too much and…”

J fiddles with his gloves. “I don’t like this.”

“Join the fucking club,” the duke huffs, draping himself over J’s shoulders. “We gotta wait here until Princey and L’re done with him, right?”

  
Patton nods.

“Great. Help me think of more ways to fuck up the assholes who did this to V.”

“Duke!”

Luckily for everyone, not a few moments later, a door appears to Patton’s left along with three quick knocks.

“Come in?”

The door opens, revealing L and the prince, leading V into Patton’s ‘room.’ V looks around, spotting the duke still draped over J.

“Oh, they do that all the time,” the prince says, “you’ll get used to it.”

“You say as if you don’t do it as well, bro,” the duke sings.

“Did you get everything set up, V?” Patton asks quietly, ignoring the others.

V nods. “Thank you.”

Patton tilts his head. “For what?”

“F-for…” V stammers, his eyes widening. L quickly gets his attention.

“You’re welcome,” he says softly, “we’re happy to help.” He gives Patton a look that says he’ll explain later.

Patton pushes it aside, reaching for the food and setting it carefully in front of V. To his surprise, V doesn’t reach out for it right away, instead eyeing it warily.

“Wrap it up, Pat,” the prince says, clapping Patton on the shoulder, “so V can take it with him.”

“Wait, what?” Patton stares at him in confusion. “Where’re we going?”

“You expect us to welcome this little darling into our forest and _not_ give him the grand tour?” The prince holds an offended hand to his chest. “How _dare_ you.”

Patton’s about to open his mouth to argue that V should be _resting,_ that’s the whole point of this, but something in the prince’s gaze tells him to leave it. So Patton carefully packs the food into a small bag, before handing it to V. And he can’t deny it sends a rush of warmth through him when V’s shoulders slump and he holds the bag securely.

“So,” the prince says, sweeping across back to V’s side, “shall we begin? Duke, Pat, if you please.”

L gives him a nod, quickly joining J and starting a hushed conversation. Patton simply shrugs and follows the duke and the prince out the door. He quickly realizes it’s not the only one; there are five doors in the forest near a small house. It’s very basic, nothing more than four walls and a roof with a simple door. That must be the place they made for V. Glancing at his own door as it closes behind him, he notes that each one is a different color. Pale blue for his own, a rich gold for J’s, bright red for the prince, deep green for the duke, dark blue for L. V seems more at ease now that he’s back in the forest. Pat smiles. Good, it’s good to see V already getting used to being here.

J was right, the garden really did want him.

He also realizes the prince has been very clever about their little party as they make their way around the forest, from the clearing, to the lake, back to the garden. The prince and the duke provide wonderfully distracting arguments and Patton is well-prepared to ask all the dumb questions so V has all the information he needs. Plus, it’s nice for him to stay close to V while the prince and the duke dash around in an effort to be so overly ridiculous there’s low amounts of pressure to take them seriously.

At one point, they actually get V to _laugh._

They’re at the lake; it’s one of Patton’s favorite places in the forest. The prince has control of the area around the lake and the surface of the lake, the duke has free rein below. Sometimes, Patton will sit on one of the big lily pads and just let one of the duke’s creatures push him around. The surface of the lake is like a giant mirror, almost glass-like, with a few delicate ripples on its veneer. The prince, of course, has a small violet bird perched on his shoulder, a fawn nuzzling his hand. The duke, by contrast, doesn’t hesitate before diving into the lake, sending sparkling showers of water droplets every which way before re-emerging, grinning, held aloft by something Patton couldn’t hope to describe.

There isn’t a doubt that V’s adorable little awestruck expression is the best thing Patton’s seen in a while. The way his fingers loosen their death grip on his bag of food, reaching out almost involuntarily to let the fawn sniff his hand, trying to hide to subtle hitch in his breath when a little pink tongue darts out and licks his fingers.

“She likes you,” the prince says quietly, smiling at the fawn as it tries to get closer to V.

“Is that why she licked me?”

“I think so.”

A second later, there’s a massive arc of water as something _huge_ heaves its way onto the shore.

“Duke!” The prince snaps away the water as quickly as he can. “Keep your slimy pets where they belong!”

“Don’t be mean,” the duke says, patting the head of the massive tentacled beast with its head flopped onto the shore, “he’s just saying hi!”

Patton looks at V, who…isn’t afraid of the massive head now lying beside him. Instead, he looks almost…curious?

As the prince and the duke continue to bicker, V slowly reaches out his hand toward the creature. The creature inclines its head, letting V stroke along the strange bumps. Then it huffs loudly, spraying all of them with a viscous green goo.

“Ah!” The prince cries out in horror as he’s splattered. “ _Duke!”_

The duke is too busy laughing to answer. Patton sighs, taking off his glasses to snap away the gunk. He puts them back on his face to chide the duke when he sees V.

V’s _laughing._

It’s a quiet laugh, more of a slight hum than anything else, but V’s smiling and it sounds warm and rumbly and _amazing_ and Patton can’t help muffling his happy noise at seeing V laugh. The prince seems to have the same reaction, stopping midway through his tirade and smiling softly at V.

The duke promptly falls off the back of the creature in shock. Then his head pops back above water and he grins.

“That means he likes you!”

“I like him too,” V mumbles, still smiling as he examines the gunk on his hands, “…not so much this.”

“Everyone’s got their opinions,” the duke shrugs, getting out of the water and shaking himself off like a dog, much to V’s amusement and the prince’s dismay, “but we should probably get you cleaned up, hmm?”

“I-if—“ V’s gaze darts around to Patton— “is that okay?”

“Of course it’s okay, V,” Patton smiles, “why don’t we go back to your room?”

The prince leads them back, stopping once they’re in front of V’s four walls. He taps V’s less gooey shoulder gently. “Do you remember what L and I said about your room?”

V nods hesitantly.

“Would you like any help?”

V glances around at them and Patton smiles encouragingly.

“N-no.”

The prince smiles and gives his shoulder a gentle pat. “Okay. That’s perfectly okay. If you change your mind, which is also okay, just knock on whoever’s door you want, okay? We’ll know it’s you and we’ll come.”

“…thank you.”

“Of course, V.” The prince deliberately turns around, snagging the duke by his shoulder and taking Patton’s hand. Patton gives V one last wave over his shoulder before the prince pulls him back through his door.

L and J look up when they enter, standing from their seats. J’s hands are still worrying themselves a little and L adjusts his tie.

“What did you tell him?” The prince’s tone makes Patton’s ‘paying attention’ glasses snap on _real_ quick.

“Not everything,” L says, “I was waiting for you.”

“Can someone tell me what’s going on, please?” The duke nods enthusiastically.

The prince and L exchange a glance before the prince gestures to L. L motions for them to take a seat.

“I’m sure it will not come as a surprise to you that the…mortals who were unkind to V controlled his access to food and water very rigorously,” L begins, “nor will it shock you to learn that V is not used to any modicum of privacy.”

It doesn’t, that doesn’t mean it’s any easier to hear.

“We—“ L gestures between himself and the prince— “did our best to assure him that his room is his own space; none of us will enter it without permission and he reserves the right to send us out at any point he wishes.”

The prince nods sharply. “And that he’s always allowed to say ‘no’ to things if we ask him.”

J raises an eyebrow. “Please tell me you gave him access to food.”

“Of course we did!” L nods in agreement. “He’s got a small garden and a tiny cupboard that connects to the pantry.”

“So I can refill it from here?”

“Or he can refill it himself.”

Patton nods in approval.

“That’s also what happens to his clothes,” L says, motioning to the other part of Patton’s space, “they’ll get deposited here when he wants them cleaned. We gave him some other clothes too.”

“I’m sure you explained all this to him too, right?”

L and the prince exchange a soft smile. “He asked for some of it,” L says, still smiling, “or at least brought up his concerns.”

Patton claps happily. “Oh, good for him!”

“Yes,” the prince murmurs, quickly sobering them with his low tone, “especially considering…”

“Right.” L takes a deep breath. “Surely you know this will not be as easy as simply giving him these things and expecting everything to work out.”

Patton tilts his head to the side. “It…it won’t?”

“No,” J says smoothly, “it won’t. It will take time. Mortals can be…remarkably hard to alter once they’ve been so used to something.”

A horrible sick feeling settles in Patton’s stomach again. He knows mortals are fragile, he knows that _V_ has been hurt very, very badly, but the thought of it staying that way? When he doesn’t need to?

“He doesn’t _know_ that yet,” J says patiently when Patton expresses as much, “and it’s going to take time for him to realize that. You said it yourself, we can’t just go in and fix everything. We need to let V do that himself.”

“At the very least,” L adds, “we’ve been trying to give him the tools to start.”

A soft _thump_ makes them turn. Patton spots a small heap of dirty cloth on a nearby surface. He walks over and picks it up, fingering the worn stitches and the holes in the fabric.

The duke peers over his shoulder. “It’s V’s clothes.”

“He must be having a wash,” the prince says, “good. You absolutely _drenched_ him.”

“That wasn’t me! It was Oliver!”

“What did you give him to wash with,” Patton interrupts. The prince shrugs.

“Modified version of the basins we use. Plenty of water, hot and cold, soap, things to clean with. Towels. Drains by itself too, right into the garden.”

“We gave him a proper room,” L assures, “a proper bed, a proper _space._ ”

“You should’ve seen him,” the prince mumbles, “I never thought I’d see someone get so worried about being told they were allowed their own space. Especially a mortal, all the ones I’ve known have been so obsessed with _taking._ ”

“You remember why, though.” As L speaks, the prince’s face darkens. Patton glances worriedly between them.

“What?”

L sighs. “It appears that…the mortals somehow convinced V that they were doing him…favors.”

Patton barely has time to blink before the duke is feral again. He reaches out and wraps his arms around the writhing mass of tentacles, joined quickly by the prince and J, muttering softly to the duke until the tentacles retreat.

L adjusts his glasses. “Quite.”

“That’s why he freaked out when Pat asked what he was thanking him for,” the duke growls, “the sick fucks probably made him be _specific_ too.”

“Our priority,” L interrupts before the duke can convince the rest of them to go feral too—honestly, Patton’s already halfway there— “is to help V feel _safe._ ”

Patton nods, only partly listening as L keeps talking, turning the tunic over in his hands. It’s worn, _very_ worn, and so thin that Patton can feel his fingers grind together when he rubs the fabric between them. Is this all V had? For how long? It looks so old…

Wait. Is that…

Patton lifts the tunic a little, rubbing at a dark stain. His eyes widen. J catches sight of it.

“That _better_ be blood.”

At the mention of the word ‘blood,’ L stops. Slowly, he walks over, holding out his hand. Wordlessly, Patton hands it over. L takes it in his hands and if Patton looks very, very closely, his hands tremble.

L takes a deep breath and hands the tunic back to Patton.

“We cannot push,” he repeats with practiced calm, “we must make V feel safe first. And that means we must trust him.”

Patton doesn’t like it. None of them do. But they know L is right.

“And…with any luck,” L adds, “a good sleep and a regular meal should start helping him some more.”

It should.

It doesn’t.

For a while, almost nothing changes. V still holds his food in a bag when Patton gives it to him. His eyes still dart around wildly whenever he goes on a walk with the prince or the duke. He still prefers to hide away in his room, coming out when they request, denying them access with a tinge of fear.

His clothes still come back with stains.

Patton would be lying if he said he wasn’t worried. This isn’t how mortals should be, they should be sleeping, they should be eating. But V seems to doggedly stay the same, still as tired and fearful as the day he stumbled into the garden. When Patton confronts L about it, L says that if he didn’t know any better, he’d say V wasn’t sleeping.

Patton doesn’t want to push, doesn’t want to shatter this tenuous bond, not now, not ever. But he’s worried.

There’s always a faint buzz in Patton’s chest that tells him where V is. He tries not to pay attention to it, give the kiddo his privacy, make sure he feels like he can come to Patton when _he_ wants to, not when Patton wants him to. He takes care to watch how he talks around V, moves around V, is as gentle as he can be. The faint buzz seems to settle a little better whenever V’s around him.

Then one day it spikes. Horribly.

Patton doubles over, pressing a hand hard to his own chest as the whine sharpens, pushes, threatens to snatch his breath away. Instantly, he looks for it, trying to find it, comfort it, _come on, kiddo, tell me what’s wrong—_

_V._

Where’s V?

Patton rushes out of his door, only to see V’s door wide open. With trembling footsteps, he slowly approaches, his heart in his throat, one hand still pressed firmly to his chest.

“V?” He calls softly, over and over, not wanting to intrude, but getting no response. “V, kiddo?”

He hesitates at the threshold. This is V’s space. They promised. He closes his eyes. Concentrates.

The pain isn’t coming from here.

He opens his eyes and focuses. _There._

It’s one of those horrid little black clouds, buzzing away from a path leading deeper into the forest. Patton follows the noise until he’s wading through the clouds, pushing them out of the way, swatting the ones he can, until he sees V.

His heart aches as he takes in the absolute _swarm_ threatening to choke the poor thing, curled up as he is at the base of a big tree. Patton gets a little closer, then crouches down and carefully, oh so carefully, _pushes._

“V?”

V’s head jerks up, his eyes as wide as a startled fawn’s, his head jerking around until his gaze lands on Patton. Patton holds up his hands, smiling softly.

“Hey, kiddo,” Patton murmurs, still pushing at the swarm, “it’s okay. You just look at me, okay? That’s all you gotta do, just look at me.”

V looks. The swarm rushes in, trying to get between Patton and V but Patton focuses, the few clouds that come in between them disappearing into quick plumes of smoke. With each one that vanishes, the others seem wary, leaving V free to stare at Patton.

“Good,” Patton murmurs, “you’re doing really good, kiddo. Can you take a deep breath for me? In…and out…in…and out…good job, kiddo, just like that.”

The whine in Patton’s chest starts to die down, the rest of him aching to reach out and take V in his arms. The poor thing looks so _scared…_

“P-Pat?”

“Yeah, V,” Patton says instantly, “I’m right here, you want me closer?”

V reaches out a trembling hand and Patton doesn’t hesitate.

V clings to his cloak like a lifeline, still curled up in a ball, just his one hand sticking out. Patton lets V tug him close, huddling around him at the base of the tree, softly murmuring to him.

“Shh, shh, kiddo,” he says, trying to center his shield to keep the worst of the swarm out, “you’re doing so good, you just keep breathing for me, okay?”

It takes a long time. Much longer than Patton would like. But eventually, when the last of the whining has faded to a confused buzz, V’s hand relaxes, the fabric still all bunched up from the force of his grip.

“S-sorry,” he mumbles.

“You don’t have to apologize, kiddo,” Patton soothes immediately, “you did the right thing.”

V looks up at him, eyes wide and rimmed red. “…I did?”

Patton smiles. “You did. You did so well, you breathed, you asked for what you wanted. You did so well, kiddo.”

And _oh_ does it hurt to see how much just that one little piece of praise means to V, and how little he must’ve received.

Patton knows he’s not supposed to push. But then V reaches for him again with trembling hands and he can’t help himself.

“Come here, sweetie,” he murmurs, pulling V into a gentle hug, “there you go…you just breathe for me, okay? You don’t have to talk, you don’t have to worry, you don’t even have to _think_ if you don’t want to. You just breathe…”

As he rocks V gently back and forth, he runs his hand down V’s head, across his shoulders, down to his back. V hisses and tenses when Patton’s hand touches something.

“…V?”

“Don’t be mad,” V stammers instantly, pulling away, “d-don’t be mad.”

Patton raises his hands. “I’m not mad, kiddo, I promise. I’m not mad and I’m not going to hurt you.”

The whine sharpens again as V tugs the tunic tightly around himself. Patton watches, concern written plainly across his features. He waits. Waits. Waits. Until…

“…I need help,” V whispers, his head almost buried in his arms, “please.”

“Of course,” Patton coos instantly, “of course, V, I’ll help you, what do you need?”

“C-can we go to m-my room?”

“Yes, sweetheart, we can go to your room. Do you feel up to walking?”

V clutches himself tighter. “…in a minute.”

“Take your time, kiddo, I’m not going anywhere.”

In a moment, V lets his head fall back against the tree and takes a deep breath. In another, he pushes himself to his feet. A few more and they’re standing outside V’s door.

“You can change your mind, kiddo,” Patton says gently when V hesitates, “I won’t be mad.”

For a moment, he thinks V’s going to say no, Patton can leave, please, then he clenches his jaw and reaches out to take Patton’s hand. He grips it firmly and lets V pull him into the house.

“…can you shut the door?”

Patton does as bid, having a quick glance around, making a note to commend the prince and L for their job. It’s a very simple house, but it’s cozy. He refocuses on V, who has his back to him, clutching the sides of his tunic.

V’s shoulders shake. “…it hurts, Pat.”

“Where,” Patton murmurs, “where does it hurt?”

“My…my back.”

“Your back, kiddo? Can I come look?” V nods, bowing his head. “Thank you, V.”

Patton walks over slowly, making his footsteps loud and obvious, so that he won’t surprise V. “Can I touch you, kiddo?”

“…please don’t hurt me.”

“I won’t, sweetie,” Patton murmurs, “I promise. Can I lift up the back of your tunic?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Thank you.” Taking the material gently in hand, Patton starts to lift it up slowly.

“W-wait!”

Patton freezes. V’s breaths grow ragged, clutching himself tighter.

“I can leave if you—“

“No!”

V breathes. _Breathes._ Patton’s heart stays in his throat, holding still, trying to project as much safety as he can. It takes a few more heart-wrenching seconds before V shudders.

“O-okay. You can lift it up now.”

“Thank you,” Patton murmurs, starting to move again. He manages to tuck the end of the tunic around V’s collar, exposing his back.

And the scars.

Patton knew some whipped other mortals, knew that cruel mortals used their horsewhips liberally, but never had he seen the end result. Certainly not like this. Gruesome comets streak across V’s back of red and silvered white. The skin wheezes and stretches as he breathes. Some looked old. Some still wept, crying sluggish and lumpy tears of blood.

“S-sorry,” he hears V mumble, “I’m sorry.”

“V,” Patton says quietly, “V, I need you to listen to me for a moment.”

V nods.

“You don’t have to apologize,” Patton says firmly, “not for this. Never for this. This is not your fault, it will never be your fault. And I will never be angry at you for it.”

V’s back shudders with the weight of Patton’s words. Then his hands slowly drop to his sides. Patton lets out a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding.

“I can’t reach them,” V mumbles, “I…I need help.”

“Thank you for letting me help,” Patton says, lifting his hand and letting it glow, “these won’t take a moment to heal, you won’t be able to—“

“No, don’t!” Patton pauses as V cries out. “Don’t heal them, please, not completely, I need—I need to have them.”

Patton’s blood runs cold. “Why do you need to have them, V?”

“I—I—“

Patton glances around, spotting a stool. “Here,” he murmurs, summoning it quickly, “sit down, honey, you’re shaking.”

V sits, hunching over, bearing his back for all to see, the scars wincing horribly as he does so. Patton stays close, resting a hand lightly on his shoulder, just so V knows he’s there, that nothing will startle him.

“You don’t have to explain in detail if you don’t want,” Patton assures, “but…I would like to know why you don’t want them healed all the way.”

V mumbles something. Patton squeezes his shoulder.

“I can’t quite hear you, is it okay if I come a little closer?” At V’s nod, Patton crouches next to his head. “Thank you. Can you say it again for me?”

“If…if I don’t have them,” V whispers, “it’s like—it’s like it didn’t happen. It’s like I’m—I’m crazy, I’m wrong, I don’t—I can’t—“

Oh. Patton swallows. “You need them to remember,” he says softly, “to remind yourself that you survived.”

V nods.

“Oh, sweetie, thank you for telling me. I won’t make them go away, I promise. Would you like to at least make them stop hurting you?”

V nods again. “I…I can’t sleep. They hurt.”

Patton, who had stood up and begun lightly running his hand to close the wounds, frowns. “What about sleeping on your stomach or your side?”

V shakes his head quickly. “Can’t. It’s bad. I can’t—can’t do anything then.”

Right. Being on his stomach would put him in such a vulnerable position…and if he doesn’t want to…

“V,” Patton says, gently stroking an unmarred patch of skin with his thumb as he works, “do you not feel safe enough to sleep here?”

V’s back tenses under his hand and Patton rubs a soothing circle into it.

“It’s okay if you don’t, kiddo,” he says softly, “I’m not angry, I’m just curious.”

“…sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, sweetie, you haven’t done anything wrong. This is still new to you, you’re still coming to terms with the fact that you’re safe now, you’re somewhere else, away from them.”

“B-but…” V shudders again. “Y-you’ve been so _nice_ and you haven’t hurt me at _all_ but I can’t help feeling like—like—“

“…it’s only a matter of time?”

“…yeah.”

Patton hums, thinking as he finishes. He takes a damp towel and softly asks V if he can clean him off a little. As he rubs the soft towel in soothing motions, he says, “I can’t make all your fears go away, kiddo, nor can I tell you you shouldn’t be afraid. It’s okay that you’re afraid, really. We’ll be here to help you.”

“Y-you will?”

Patton gives him one last pat before he gently lowers the tunic and lays the towel aside. He walks around to the front and crouches, tucking a hand under V’s chin and gently encouraging him to make eye contact.

“Yes, V,” he promises, “we’ll be here.”

V’s gaze, so horribly unsure and scared, has just the smallest bit of hope in it, and that’s enough for Patton. He smiles, only grinning wider when V hesitantly smiles back.

“You also don’t have to sleep _here,_ ” Patton says, “you can sleep anywhere you like.”

An adorable wrinkle forms between V’s brows. “Really?”

“Yeah, kiddo.” Patton gestures around. “We made this so you could have your own space, but it’s okay if you don’t feel like sleeping here. It’s okay if you never want to sleep here.”

He reaches up and gently rubs at V’s chest, right over his heart.

“You sleep wherever you feel safest, okay, kiddo?”

“Okay.”

Patton smiles. “Good. Good job, kiddo, you did so well. I’m so proud of you.”

He stands, guiding V’s chin up too until he can lean down and lightly kiss his forehead. “Do you want anything else?”

“N-no,” V mumbles, “I’m good. Thank you.”

“Always.”

Patton leaves V’s room, carefully shutting the door behind him, before opening the door to his own and going inside. As he goes, he finds the latest bloody tunic and washes it personally.

Slowly, he dips the fabric into the water, scrubbing persistently at the stain. No more. No more. Never again. _Never_ again.

No one will touch V again. Nothing will ever make those wounds on his back bleed. Not on his watch.

“Pat?”

“In here,” Patton calls, hanging up the tunic and going to meet the others. L stands in the corner, J by his side. The prince swings around quickly when he enters, pulling up the duke by his shoulder. “Thank you for coming so quick.”

“Of course,” L says instantly, “it was important.”

Patton tells them what he’s learned, leaving out any parts that V confessed to him personally. He won’t tell V’s story for him, just tells the others about things he learns to take care of him. As to be expected, they’re not happy about it.

“What else can we do,” the prince cries, “to make him feel safe? Are we not—are we not doing enough?”

“We’re doing all that we can,” L says, even as he nervously adjusts his tie, “but…it will take time. The fact that V feels comfortable enough to tell us this already speaks volumes. We must…simply continue being patient.”

“But if he’s not sleeping,” the duke argues, then—

“L is right,” Patton says, even as the duke grumbles, “we just have to…be patient.”

J reaches out, taking one of their hands in one of his. He squeezes, draws them closer. They wrap their arms around each other, buzzing gently. Patton knocks his head lightly against the duke’s and rests his head on J’s shoulder.

They knew this wasn’t going to be easy. He’s not sure they realized just how hard it would be. But they’ll figure it out. They will. For V.

As it turns out, maybe they’ve made more progress than they thought.

The prince sends out a call the next morning, saying V’s not in his room. The duke tears off around the forest, J heads for the garden. L makes for the lake, Patton stays behind in case he comes back. But just as he’s grabbing a sack of food to give to V just in case they find him, he hears something soft in the pile of clean, dry clothes. He frowns, walking over, only to see—

Patton’s breath catches in his throat and he smiles so wide his cheeks ache.

V is curled up in the warm pile, clinging to one of J’s cloaks and one of Patton’s shirts draped around his shoulders. For the first time since Patton’s seen him, his face is slack, free of any stress or tension. He looks young, peaceful.

It’s the most adorable thing he’s ever seen.

_Yeah,_ he thinks as he lets the others know he’s found V, everything’s okay, _we’ll figure it out._


	3. Remus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Words are fucking stupid if you ask Remus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOD I love being able to write stupid shit and have it be considered totally fine.

Words are fucking stupid if you ask Remus. Mortals have no idea what they’re doing with them and half the time they just make shit up and expect everyone else to go along with it. They don’t know what words are supposed to mean and half the time they try and pin down something that can’t be made into a single word into one and it’s just a big mess. There is one exception.

Feral.

Remus isn’t quite sure what gave mortals this one stroke of genius but he’s grateful for it. Feral. Even the word _sounds_ like chaos. Which is just Remus’s cup of snail intestines.

Feral, or more accurately, going feral, is the closest thing a fae gets to absolute bat-shit. Which, in fairness, by mortal standards, isn’t that bat-shit. Oh, yeah, sure mortals don’t have _nearly_ the firepower of the fae, but let’s be real, here folks, mortals perfected the clockwork of murder far better than any fae could hope to.

Going feral means what little hold a fae has on this fucking stupid temporal plane is tenuous at best. It means that bits of their aura manifest in ways that quickly go beyond the pitiful visible spectrum that mortals can tolerate. It means shapes and colors and energies that aren’t meant to be seen by mortal eyes, all barely held together by a flexible container of mostly water. A body, if you prefer the un-fun definition.

Going feral is the fine line between creation and destruction.

Remus is the one who goes feral the most often, even though it’s not why you think. It’s not directly tied to emotion, not really. If it was, Patton would be going feral every two seconds. It’s not even tied to sheer raw power. As much as Remus hates to admit it, that’s probably Snakey, even if it _is_ only through his role as Gatekeeper.

No no no. It’s much worse than that.

Sir Nerd-A-Lot was right when he said that each of their ‘rooms’ is a slightly different layer of reality, something mortals can’t understand because of the way they’re made in this world. Although Remus’s way of understanding it wasn’t some tender touching of hands or soft words of explanation.

The rooms are different ways to see.

L’s room is like a normal pair of glasses. Makes things sharper, easier to understand, clearer. Less ambiguity.

J’s room is like looking through mist or fog. More gray areas, easier to twist the truth to what you _want_ to see, easier to let your mind play tricks on you. Less easy to figure out exactly what’s going on.

Patton’s room is like always being in that weird soft stage mortals always say they have when they’re really sleepy. Not tired, because of _course not,_ words are stupid. Sleepy is soft yawns and smiles and too-long sleeves and adorable smiles that make Remus want to pinch their cheeks until they fall off. Tired is squinty eyes and muttered complaints and downing that mysterious brown liquid. Patton’s room is being sleepy, everything a little softer, sweet enough to make Remus’s teeth ache.

His brother’s room is, uh, well. Remus really doesn’t know what makes his brother’s room that different from his when you get right down to it. It’s like…it’s like looking in two different mirrors. Princey’s room is like that mirror that always shows you what you’d like to see. It’s the one that makes your hair do whatever the fuck you want it to do or makes your eyes glimmer like whatever the fuck you want them to glimmer like. It’s dreamy and it’s whatever and Princey seems to like it. And yeah, okay, Remus isn’t too big to admit that his brother’s good at what he does, even if it’s a little boring for his taste.

Remus’s room is like looking into a mirror and the mirror looking back into you.

Remus doesn’t really give a shit about what mortals would rather tell themselves about what it is they really want or don’t want. He’s with Snakey on that one; mortals don’t really _know_ what it is they want, and if they do, they rarely say it out loud. That’s okay. Remus can do that.

Remus lurks in the darkness, where mortals would rather not look. He delights in the twisted little things that straggle across their brains. It’s so much more _interesting,_ looking at the absolutely horrible things that drift through their little minds and how much it makes them squirm. He’ll never understand why they try so hard to pretend they don’t exist, they make things so much more interesting.

And _that’s_ the problem.

Remus is tied to those dark little things and sometimes…sometimes those dark little things don’t stay so dark and little.

Sometimes they come out and they’re darker in the daylight. Sometimes they take that darkness and force it somewhere it should _never_ go. Sometimes they try and pretend that their darkness is _other_ people’s fault.

That pisses Remus _off._

Mortals hurt each other. That’s what they do. Sure, they also do a whole lot of other things but mortals _feel._ That’s what they’re built to do. So it’s inevitable that they’ll get hurt. But the darkness it takes to blame someone or something else for _your_ darkness? That type of darkness makes Remus’s stomach curl.

Literally. He can feel it squirming around in there.

Or maybe that’s just the tentacles.

Listen, mortal forms and mortal-like forms are so _stupid,_ okay? There’s no place to _put_ anything and Remus has to make do.

When he goes feral, well…different story.

Remus hasn’t gone feral in a while. Not really. Not like this.

Not like the _agony_ that was pushed into him by the snake, not like the ants that crawled around in his bones, not like the way it stripped him of himself, layer by layer, until he could only smile until his cheeks ached.

There’s a fine line between pleasure and pain.

Then he’d showed up in the garden and _seen._ Seen this tiny _tiny_ mortal that should never have this much pain. Seen the lines drawn in burned wood in its head, seen the fear that clung to the little thing like water clings to a dead leaf, seen the _marks._

And then they had been so cold.

Mortals aren’t supposed to be cold. They’re fiery little beasties, even the prissy ones. Their blood runs hot and their little heads like to run themselves silly and they have an awful tendency to burn themselves up with just the _slightest_ push.

V shivered. V shook. V trembled and his skin had been so icy Remus had been teetering on the edge of going feral before he learned that _other mortals did this to V._

He hadn’t really tried to stop it after that.

When he had V in his arms, it was better. He could feel V’s darkness scrabbling around inside his head, had been able to wrap his arms around it, hold it tight, feel _so much_ and try and make it settle down.

Double-edged sword, that was.

Here’s the thing. Here’s the _fucking_ problem.

V’s carrying around darkness that isn’t _his._

Whatever monsters did this to him—he shouldn’t fucking call them monsters, monsters were better than this— _made_ him carry around their darkness. Not his. Remus doesn’t even fucking _know_ what darkness is V’s and what darkness has been _made_ V’s. It’s like they picked one person, _one_ person, and made them responsible for everyone’s darkness.

Mortals don’t like darkness.

Remus can’t imagine what they must have done if they gave their darkness a singular, corporeal, _punishable_ form.

Well, no. He _can_ imagine. That’s the fucking problem.

That’s the main reason why he pulled V aside and told him that, uh, maybe going to _his_ room wasn’t the best idea. Don’t get him wrong, if V wants to Remus will sure as hell take him, that’s cool, but uh…might be a bad time. Thankfully, V didn’t seem too bothered by it, well…not _more_ bothered. Remus wasn’t about to look a gift gulper eel in the mouth.

Seriously. Uma likes to eat some weird shit.

The lake is Remus’s favorite part of the forest, just because it’s the only place _he_ really gets to work with his brother. Princey’s great at making everything else but like…it gets boring. Plus, they work better together anyway, even when they don’t agree all the time.

V’s got a much better appreciation for his stuff anyway.

Speaking of V, he’s sitting at the edge of the lake, knees tucked up to his chest, idly toying with a branch that drifted over to the shore. Remus paddles over, using his tentacles to keep him afloat as he cocks his head.

“Find something interesting?”

V shrugs. “It’s just a stick.”

…yeah, but like…it could be something else.

“Wanna play with it?”

V’s brow wrinkles. “How do you play with a stick?”

Ignoring the rush of _what fucking mortal child doesn’t know how to play with anything and everything,_ Remus grins and whistles. A few seconds later the water’s surface stirs as something big trundles up to the surface.

“Ollie!”

The kraken burbles, wrapping Remus in an arm and giving him a light squeeze. Then it notices V, curled up on the shore, and hums, the water rippling all around it, as it moves toward the edge.

“Be careful,” Remus scolds as it pulls him with, “don’t beach yourself.”

Oliver protests lightly, before huffing and reaching out to lay one tentacle in the shallows. V smiles—Remus is so fucking happy V’s smiling now, okay? It’s so good—and waves. Oliver pokes the end of the tentacle out of the water and waves back.

“Your name is Ollie?”

“I call him Oliver,” Remus says, patting the tentacle still around his waist.

“Hi, Oliver,” V says softly, “it’s nice to meet you.”

The kraken rumbles happily, reaching out for V.

“Hey!” Remus lightly smacks the tentacle. “ _Ask_ first!”

“A-ask what?”

“He wants to hug you.” Sure enough, the tentacle near V twitches slightly, water pouring off the sides as it raises out of the lake. V watches it move warily. “he won’t hurt you, V, he’s sweet.”

Oliver burbles again.

“You don’t gotta,” Remus says quickly, “if you don’t wanna.”

V reaches out one hand, trembling slightly as the kraken reaches out to meet him. He pats the arm. Remus grins as Oliver gently taps him back.

“You wanna play with him?”

“How?”

“Throw the stick.”

“L-like a dog?”

“You throw dogs?” At V’s horrified face, Remus bursts out laughing. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Yeah, V. Ollie likes playing fetch.”

V’s brow wrinkles adorably. “Really?”

Remus grins. “Ollie!” The kraken turns its head to look up at him. “Toss!”

The kraken rears back the arm and hurls Remus across the lake.

“ _Wheee!”_

There’s nothing quite like being flung through the air and splashing down into a nice big body of water. Using his own tentacles to propel him back over to the other side, Oliver trills and reaches for him again.

“ _Ask,_ ” Remus chides lightly, only to giggle and pat the arm that curls around his waist again. “You just want to hug? Okay.”

He turns to V, whose mouth is wide open. “See? Fetch.”

“That…that’s not normally how fetch works.”

Remus shrugs. “Ollie likes it.”

“Do..do _you_ like it?”

“Yeah, I like it. It’s fun!”

Oliver reaches out slowly for V, laying the arm next to him on the shore. V glances at Remus before carefully reaching for the stick and nervously offering it to Oliver. Oliver takes it and passes it to Remus who grins.

“Ready?”

V nods.

“Ollie, toss!”

This time, as Oliver hurls him across the lake, Remus chucks the stick as hard as he can away from him, laughing when Oliver trills and dives after it. As Remus swims back, he sees V scramble to his feet, peering anxiously into the distance.

“Don’t worry,” Remus calls, treading water, “he’ll find it and come back. He always does.”

Sure enough, not a few seconds later, and the water parts, revealing a very pleased Oliver and a stick clutched delicately in one of his arms. V’s eyes widen as Oliver holds it out, taking the proffered stick carefully.

“See?” Remus beams. “Fetch.”

“Fetch,” V echoes breathlessly, “good job, Oliver.”

“You wanna do it again?” V nods. “Great. Chuck the stick at me.”

“Wait, but...what if it hits you?”

“I’m a fucking fae, V, and it’s a fucking stick. Chuck it at me.”

Remus catches the stick even if he has to lift himself out of the water to do it. Oliver burbles and Remus nods, letting Oliver curl around his waist again.

“V,” he calls, “you wanna tell him this time?”

Glancing back and forth between the two of them, V nods. “Toss!”

Oliver launches Remus with more enthusiasm than he has in a while. So much so that Remus laughs the whole way across the lake _and_ the whole way back.

“I think he’s trying to impress you,” he remarks when Oliver zips back and forth faster and faster.

“I’m impressed.”

Oliver lays the stick on the grass and reaches out for V. V pats the arm only for his eyes to widen when Oliver reaches further and rumbles.

“He wants to pick you up, V,” Remus explains.

“D-does he want to throw me?”

“I’m sure he’d love it if you let him,” Remus says, quickly continuing when V balks, “but I think right now he really just wants to hold you.”

V still looks unsure. Remus taps his fingers against the arm around his waist, thinking.

_Hmmm…_

_Oh hey wait I’ve fucking got it._

“V?”

“Y-yeah?”

“You wanna ride?”

V’s eyes widen. “Ride?”

“Yeah.” Remus gestures around. “Lake’s fucking huge, and there’s cool shit everywhere. Plus, Ollie likes you a lot and he’d be real happy to give you a ride if you wanted.”

Oliver trills in agreement.

“…okay,” V mumbles eventually, “can I…can I have a ride?”

“Sure you can. You wanna swim out and let me help you up or you want Ollie to set you on his head?”

“I—I can do it.”

“Cool.” Oliver sets Remus on his head and Remus shifts around a bit, trying to work out where the most secure place for V to sit would be. He glances up when V carefully steps into the water, having removed his boots. Oliver shifts around slowly, arranging his tentacles into stairs that V can use to get up.

“D-duke?”

“Yeah?”

“H-how do I get up?”

“You can climb, climb his arms.”

V tilts his head. “What if I hurt him?”

It makes Remus chuckle. “V, you’re _tiny._ You’re small and light and you’re a mortal. You probably couldn’t hurt him if you _tried,_ and he sure as hell wouldn’t be doing this if it was gonna hurt. You’re all good, climb up.”

V climbs, slowly and carefully, always wary about where he’s putting his hands or his feet, until he steps onto Oliver’s head and sinks down next to Remus.

“Good job!” Remus shuffles a little closer. “Ollie’ll go slow for you, but if you wanna hang onto something, you just lemme know, okay?”

V nods. Remus pats the head under them.

“Okay! You be nice, yeah? You’re carrying precious cargo here.”

Remus bites back a laugh at V’s nervous squeak when Oliver rumbles, starting to move. He scrabbles a little for a handhold.

“Here,” Remus suggests, flopping onto his stomach, “get low. Less chance of falling off.”

V just curls into himself, trying to hold onto something. Remus frowns, then carefully sits up as Oliver finishes turning toward the rest of the lake.

“You can hang onto me if you want,” he offers, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Can I?”

“Mhm.” Remus shifts a little closer, opening his arms. “Or I can hang onto you.”

Nothing feels better than the satisfaction of having V crawl into his lap, letting Remus cuddle him with his back against Remus’s chest, tentacles hanging onto Oliver. Oliver rumbles happily, lazily swimming around the edge of the lake. As they go, he can feel V start to relax, some of the tension seeping out as he slumps against Remus. Remus smiles, closing his eyes to just feel V not being so _afraid,_ for once, feel that pain start to lessen, even if it’s just the smallest bit. Let a little bit of the darkness be chased away.

By the time they’re back to the familiar shore, Oliver eases gingerly into the shallows and hums. Remus chuckles.

“Good workout today, huh, buddy?”

Another rumble.

“Come on,” he mutters to V, “you want me to help you down or you got it?”

“I got it.”

Remus opens his arms and watches V climb back down just as gingerly, giving Oliver one last pat before sitting on the shore. An arm wraps around Remus’s waist and squeezes.

“Yeah, yeah, I had fun too, buddy. You go eat something?”

Oliver gives one last rumble and disappears below the surface of the lake. Remus hauls himself out and flops down on the grass beside V, stretching lazily. Snakey’s got a point with this whole sun-warmed surface thing. He can _feel_ himself relaxing.

“Thank you.”

At V’s mumble, Remus opens one eye. “Sure, you’re welcome. You have fun?”

“Mhm.”

“I’m glad.”

There’s another stretch of silence. Remus sits up, looking at how V stares at the lake. It’s one of the only times V’s brow isn’t furrowed. Remus decides he likes it better than way.

“I like the lake,” V confesses quietly, almost too quiet for Remus to hear. “It’s nice.”

The note of childish wonder in his voice makes Remus feel…weird. It’s not a bad weird, it’s not necessarily a good weird either though. It’s just…weird. Like there’s something fluffy in his chest, something that really wants to make V always sound like this.

“Good.” Remus shifts a little closer. “What do you like about it?”

V thinks for a moment, tucking his knees up to his chest. “I like the water.”

“The water?”

A small nod. “Water is good.”

Something changes.A little darkness colors V’s tone and Remus sits up a little straighter.

“…’good?’” He tests the word out on his tongue. “Why is water good, V?”

“Because it isn’t fire.” V curls in on himself. “Fire is bad.”

The fluff is gone.

_Pain pain pain pain there’s flames rising higher and higher as the crowd grows more and more restless there are sparks and smoke and the wood burns slowly so slowly so slowly the flames creep higher and higher and the man holds a torch aloft and it burns it burns it burns it’s getting closer no please not now—_

“Duke! _Duke!”_

Remus growls, the power seeping through him. How dare they, _how fucking dare they,_ the darkness rolls off in waves, crashing, building, flowing higher and higher and higher and—

“Shh, shh, you stay behind me, okay?”

It runs deeper. Pushes. Pulls. Opens his mouth. Tilts his head back. The tentacles writhe. The lake trembles. So much. So _much._

“Duke, duke, I need you to listen to me.”

…Princey?

What’s Princey doing here?

“Duke. _Duke._ You need to stop, you’re scaring V.”

_V._

Remus growls again, closing his eyes and swallowing the darkness. It sinks into a pit in his chest and he swallows, pushing it back into the depths and away from him. Away from V.

He growls, curling in on himself, willing the mass of tentacles to _behave,_ settle down, holding himself tightly and trying to dissipate the extra energy.

“Good…that’s it. Both of you just have a breather, okay?”

Remus opens his eyes. He’s by the lake. There’s no one here to hurt anyone. He’s alright. They’re alright. He takes one more breath and the last of the mania settles.

_V._

He looks over and regret burns a hole in his chest. The prince stands there, having pulled V behind him, one hand held out towards Remus, the other hovering protectively over V. V’s curled in on himself so tightly he can barely see him behind the prince.

Fuck. He fucked up. Did he…

“…is he blind?” Remus manages, unable to tear his eyes away from this poor _poor_ thing.

“No,” the prince says softly, “he’s not.”

“ _Fuck._ ”

“Yeah.” The prince looks at him with a soft fury. “Come on, Re, you know better.”

“It _hurts,_ Ro,” Remus mutters, unable to stop himself from slipping into the nickname, “it…it’s fucking painful.”

“Does it hurt still?”

“Like maggots crawling under my skin.”

The prince winces sympathetically. “How do you think it is for V?”

“I _know,_ ” Remus mutters angrily, “I’m pissed about that too.”

They both stop, looking at V huddled on the ground, shaking and mumbling something. Fuck. _Fuck,_ what has Remus done?

They just fucking got him feeling safe, he just got comfortable asking for things, hell he’s _just_ started being able to sleep in his room…did Remus fuck _all_ of that up?

“…ke.”

Remus blinks, straining to hear. The prince does too, turning his head to look down at V. Neither speaks.

“…ke…d…ke…”

Remus’s chest clenches.

“… _duke…duke…”_

The prince drops to one knee, reaching out to gather V close. “It’s alright, V, breathe…shh, you’re alright, sweetheart, no one’s hurt.”

“ _Duke…_ ”

“He’s alright, sweetheart, he’s okay.”

“ _Duke._ ”

The way V’s voice cracks hurts almost as much as going feral did. Remus watches helplessly as V rocks himself back and forth, his arms wrapped so tightly around himself that he can hardly see where one ends and the other begins. He keeps shaking his head, mumbling ‘duke’ over and over.

The prince glances at Remus then back to V. “…do you want the duke, sweetheart?”

“…d-duke…”

Remus swallows. Please, please let this be right.

“...V?”

V keens, one of his hands slowly reaching out. Remus scrambles forward, almost knocking his brother out of the way. The prince merely huffs. Remus stares at V, hoping, _hoping…_

_“V,_ can you hear me?”

“Duke?”

“Yeah, V, it’s me, I’m—I’m sorry.”

_“Duke._ ”

“Can I—“

Remus doesn’t get to finish his sentence. V doesn’t quite throw himself into Remus, but it’s close. Remus wraps around him immediately, tentacles and all, curling in on V as V clings to him, tighter, tighter, _tighter._

_“Oh,_ you two,” he hears the prince murmur distantly, “what will we do with you?”

Remus doesn’t much care what his brother thinks right now. All he cares about is having V safe in his arms and alive and _warm,_ holding onto him tightly. V keeps sobbing out ‘duke,’ over and over, slowly growing less and less frantic. The prince sits there, gently stroking his hand through Remus’s hair.

It takes a while—much fucking longer than Remus would like—to finally get everyone to settle down. They slump there, on the ground, still curled around each other. The prince huffs a laugh, ruffling Remus’s hair before standing up.

“I think you two,” he murmurs, “should talk, hmm?”

Remus nods, still holding V tightly. The prince gives him a nod and vanishes back into the forest.

“…V?”

V shifts a little. “Mm?”

“Can we talk about, uh, what just happened?”

A few seconds pass and V scoots further into Remus’s lap. “…can we stay like this?”

“Of course,” Remus says instantly, “we can stay like this. I, uh, I wanna apologize.”

“For what?”

Remus swallows. “Going feral. Scaring you. Almost blinding you.”

There’s a moment of silence.

“…I’m not mad at you.”

“You’re not?”

He feels V’s head shake against his neck. “It—I—mmphf.”

“Take your time,” Remus says quickly, “I’m not gonna let go if you don’t want.”

“Don’t…”

He squeezes. “I won’t.”

V is the perfect little weight in his lap. Soft, not too heavy, just _this_ side of too warm, cuddling into him with the persistence of a snuggle-deprived jellyfish.

Oh, V should totally meet the school of jellyfish. He’d love them.

“…no one’s ever done that before.”

V’s voice is so quiet that for a moment, Remus isn’t even sure he’s spoken. Then he shifts again.

“No one’s ever done that for me.”

“…go feral?”

V shakes his head. “…be protective.”

Oh, this is _not_ the time to be making such broken, heartfelt confessions because Remus can and will get pissed all over again at everything and everyone that made V think he wasn’t worth protecting.

“…oh, little monster…”

If V doesn’t like the pet name, he gives no indication. In fact…V almost _burrows_ into him. Remus tightens his grip again, rocking V back and forth the way he remembers Patton doing.

“I—I’ve never _had—_ “ V gasps against his shoulder— “I don’t know how—it—I—“

“Shh, little monster,” Remus burbles, trying _really really fucking hard to remember how to do this,_ “you, uh, you just breathe, okay? I’m right here. You don’t have to know things.”

“—I don’t wanna be afraid,” V manages, “I don’t wanna be afraid.”

“You don’t have to be, little monster, you don’t.”

“Y-you—“

“Hang on, little monster,” Remus interrupts gently when V’s breaths start to get faster again, “you gotta slow down, come on…”

They breathe together.

“…yeah?”

“You make me feel safe,” V blurts, “and—and I don’t wanna…I don’t wanna _not.”_

His fingers tap out an anxious rhythm on Remus’s back.

“Feral is scary.”

“Feral _is_ scary,” Remus murmurs in agreement, “and, uh, I’m trying not to do it.”

He pulls back and gently nuzzles into V’s hair.

“Don’t wanna scare _you._ ”

“No one’s ever been angry _for_ me before,” V whispers, “it’s…it’s nice.”

“Well, I’m not gonna stop being angry at them,” Remus mutters, “but I _will_ get better at not scaring you.”

“I-it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, little monster,” Remus corrects gently, “the others are right. I could hurt _you_ going feral way more than I would hurt anyone who _deserves_ it. So I gotta be better about that. For _you._ ”

“For me?”

Remus clutches him tighter. “For _you._ ”

He’s being serious. Absolute fucking stone right now. This cinched it. He could’ve hurt V really fucking bad by going feral right then. He knows he can’t risk that happening again, so he’s gotta figure his shit out real fast.

There’s one person he knows will be able to help him.

L raises an eyebrow when Remus appears next to his desk. “Well, this certainly is unexpected. Is something the matter?”

“Yeah.” Remus shuffles. L’s room makes him feel like sandpaper. “I need your help not going feral.”

L blinks. “Well, that’s not what I was expecting. I must highlight the fact that suppressing your nature is not a long-term solution.”

“I’m not trying to stop it permanently. I just…” Remus twists his hands together. “I fucked up earlier.”

L sits. “Tell me?”

Remus explains what happened, from the fetch to the ride to learning that _one of the reasons that fucking hurt so much was that they burned—_

“I see,” L interrupts stiffly, his own hands starting to clench, “and I am…proud of you, Duke.”

Remus blinks. “Wait, what? Why?”

“Of your restraint,” L mutters, “and of the fact that you recognized that this was a problem and you have come to try and find a solution.”

Rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, Remus gnaws on his bottom lip, trying to relieve the extra energy. Going feral twice in one day is _not_ a good idea.

“Don’t do that,” L says.

“Do what?”

“Bite.” L taps the side of his mouth. “Not healthy.”

Remus rolls his eyes. “it’s not like I’m gonna bleed out, L.”

“No, _you_ won’t,” L says, “but it’s still not a healthy coping mechanism.”

“So?”

“So—“ L crosses his arms— “you’re trying to be better for _V._ V will very much be hurt by something like that.”

Ah.

Fuck, that’s a good reason.

“Okay,” Remus mutters, “okay. What _can_ I do?”

“What helps you calm down normally,” L asks, “when you go feral?”

“Fuck, I don’t _know,_ ” Remus sighs, “I don’t—it’s not—it’s not like it’s _happened_ recently!”

“It’s V, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“V.” L motions for Remus to sit down, folding his hands in his lap. “V has…a lot of emotional trauma. _You_ are perhaps the most linked with emotional trauma.”

“Isn’t that Pat-Pat’s job?”

L shakes his head. “Pat works with _emotion,_ what is currently being experienced. _You,_ however, and your brother, are more closely tied to memory.”

“So…”

“So _you,_ more than any of us, even your brother, are being affected by this change.”

“But it’s not _his_ fault.”

“No, and neither is it yours. It simply is.” Remus buries his face in his hands. “Not the answer you were looking for, I’m sure.”

“Really fucking wasn’t.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” L prompts, “what normally helps you calm down?”

“ _Fuck,_ I don’t know! Calming down isn’t really my strong suit. That’s my birthday suit.”

L pinches the bridge of his nose. “ _Focus,_ please.”

Remus sits back in the chair. What helps him calm down?

Well…

“…safe,” Remus mumbles, “safe makes me calm down.”

“When you feel safe?”

He shakes his head. “When _V_ is safe.”

L makes a noise of understanding. “Your ‘going feral’ is caused by the pain you experience when V is under stress, caused by his past trauma. Thus whenever you can remind yourself that he is _safe,_ and no longer in danger, it helps you snap out of it.”

“But now _I’m_ the danger.”

“Are you trying to hurt V?”

“ _What?_ ” Remus leaps to his feet, the air crackling. L sits, impassive as always. “ _No!_ ”

“Are you willingly putting V in situations where you know he will be upset?”

“What the _fuck_ is—“

“Are you?”

“No!”

“When you are in a place where you _could_ hurt V,” L continues, still smooth as fucking glass in his chair, “do you try and distance yourself so you do not?”

Oh. Remus gets it now.

“…yeah.”

“Then,” L says firmly, “you are _not_ the danger you believe yourself to be.”

Remus sits back in the chair slowly. “…said I make him feel safe.”

“You do,” L says, “more than most of us do, I would guess. I imagine that…having someone be as protective as _you_ are is something quite foreign to V.”

“Shouldn’t be.”

“No. It shouldn’t.”

Remus scrubs his hands over his face, wishing that this was fucking _easy,_ that they could just…wipe them all out. Make the fear go away. Make the scars disappear.

But they can’t.

“What can I do, then,” Remus mumbles, “it—it wasn’t so bad today because Princey showed up.”

“Having another person helped?”

“No, well, kind of.” Remus twists his hands together again. “…made sure he pulled V outta the way.”

“Mm.”

There’s a few moments of silence while L thinks, idly tapping a finger against his wrist.

“I have noticed,” he says after a while, “that the times when you are most likely to ‘go feral,’ so to speak, coincide with times when V is experiencing particularly high levels of stress.”

Remus nods.

“You have also stated that when V feels safe, and perhaps when _you_ are able to make him feel safe, you’re able to calm down faster.”

Another nod. L’s fucking good at problem-solving.

“Do you think, then,” L says, “that if we were to help _you_ get better at calming V down, you would, in turn, be able to calm _yourself_ faster?”

“L, you’re a fucking genius.”

L blushes too, did you know that? “Well, I…”

“So what do I do?”

“Right.” L adjusts his tie. “What do you know already?”

Remus thinks. “He, uh, he likes to be asked before anything happens, including being moved or touched.”

“Good. What else?”

“…he doesn’t like loud noises, or bright lights.”

“Good.”

“No fire.”

“Mm.”

“He likes the lake?”

“Does it help him calm down?”

“…dunno.”

L nods. “Anything else?”

Remus _thinks._ What else, what else…

“Having his eyes closed,” he says carefully, “helped before, didn’t it? Stopped him from getting super overwhelmed?”

“That is possible,” L says, “but it is unlikely to be something you try first, as it would require a decent amount of cognitive awareness _or_ physical contact to achieve, both of which are not frequent in times of high stress.”

“What can I do, then?”

“How likely do you think it is that you will be able to speak calmly?”

Remus snorts. The corner of L’s mouth quirks up.

“Mm. Then it might be better to try something else, then.”

“Something else?”

L tilts his head, looking at Remus with that stare that makes him feel like L can see _through_ him. “I have also noticed that with _you,_ V does not seem as…averse to physical contact.”

Wait, what?

“When you held him in the garden, when he first arrived,” L says, “and when you rubbed his back. He was not afraid of _you,_ no more than he was startled. Admittedly, this was during a prolonged period of high stress.”

“W-wait, you’re right, earlier, he—“ Remus wraps his arms around himself— “by the lake, he…he _asked_ for me. He…”

“He initiated contact?”

“…yeah.”

A soft smile comes over L’s face. “I’m pleased.”

“Why?”

“Because you, perhaps more than the rest of us,” L continues, “are very eager to protect V. So much so that it leads to…”

“Going feral.”

“Indeed. And if V _chooses_ to seek comfort from you…” L raises his eyebrows pointedly.

“…then…then I can do it _that_ way.”

“Correct.”

L gets up, reaching for a glass of water. He holds it out to Remus who takes it carefully.

“Why’s this so fucking hard?”

“Because nothing like this is easy, Duke,” L answers, fetching a glass for himself, “for anyone involved. I, for one, am impressed.”

“…by?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes,” L says, “and how much you have…decided to change your approach.”

Ah. Yeah.

Yeah, the last time they found a mortal that had been… _mistreated—_ apparently, Pat-Pat had an issue with Remus calling it ‘super fucked up’ even though it _was—_ they’d died just on the outskirts of the garden.

“Not with V,” Remus mumbles, “I want V to stay. _They_ were already gone.”

A few moments of silence pass, then there’s a soft _whoosh._

L sighs. “You can come out, J.”

J strides out of the shadows, part of Remus’s mind trying valiantly to convince him that he’s been there the whole time. He hasn’t, Remus fucking knows he hasn’t, but _still._

“Where’s V?”

“With Pat,” J answers smoothly, “eating.”

“Good,” L says, “difficult emotional experiences should be followed by food.”

Remus winces. He can almost _feel_ the fucking room get colder. J’s head tilts.

“I’m _sure_ I know _exactly_ what you’re referring to,” he says softly, “and I _wouldn’t_ appreciate an explanation.”

L, the asshole, just looks at Remus. Remus sighs and explains again.

J takes one deep breath and lets it out slowly. Remus bows his head, waiting. Then he feels gloved fingers carding through it and he shudders.

“Did you need something?” he hears L ask.

“I was out for a walk,” J says, still stroking Remus’s hair, “by the lake. Something felt…off. So I tried to find the duke.”

“‘M here.”

“I can see that.”

“Needed L’s help.”

“And did you get it?” Remus nods, not wanting to jar J’s hand loose. “Good.”

“We do just have the theory, however,” L muses, “and no practice.”

“I may be able to help with that.”

Remus looks up when J’s fingers leave his hair. “I’m listening.”

It’s later, _much_ later, when Remus finally leaves L’s room. The forest is twinkling, his brother sitting crosslegged on his favorite stump. Remus hugs him tightly, thanks him for being there earlier.

“Of course, Re,” his brother murmurs, “and thank _you_ for being there.”

“I will be,” Remus says, “I will be.”

It’s not much later when Remus is walking back to the clearing and a scream rips through the air.

_V._

The door is locked. It’s locked tight. Remus can’t push. He can’t push. He can’t ruin this.

The scream keeps going.

“V! _V!”_

_Keeps going._

It aches. It aches and the longer it goes, the longer it hurts, the harder it gets for Remus to keep from breaking the door down. Then a flurry of footsteps and—

“V!”

Remus catches V as he barrels out of his room, barely having enough time to open his arms and catch his balance. V’s eyes, wide with panic, settle on Remus’s face.

“V,” Remus repeats softly, “ _V._ ”

“…duke?”

“Yeah. Yeah, little monster, it’s Duke.”

“ _…duke.”_

Remus eases them to the ground, keeping his arms firmly around V. He draws him gently into his lap, closing his eyes and burying his face in V’s hair, feeling V curl up in his lap, still shaking, still shivering. A bolt of pain shoots through his chest when he feels the raw cry against his throat and his arms tighten around V, trying in vain to take some of that pain and push it into himself. V so desperately needs to stay mortal, to stay V, to feel. The last thing he wants is for this to destroy V beyond repair.

“It’s alright, little monster, I got you, you’re safe, I’m not going to let anything hurt you, shh, just keep breathing for me.”

He keeps up the litany of calm reassurances and comforting noises, rocking V back and forth on the ground. V’s shuddering breaths echo in the still clearing. His hands and arms tremble violently against Remus’s back and he can’t tell whether it’s because they’re holding onto him so tightly that his muscles are shaking or if he’s panicking so much he can’t _stop_ shaking. The monster growling inside Remus’s chest starts snarling when V shudders harder.

_No. Not now. He’s safe. Keep him safe._

Remus breathes. Tells the beastie in his chest to _pipe the fuck down._ Wraps himself around V and holds him close.

_Safe. Safe. Safe._

_They’re safe._

“...V?”

V mumbles, burying his cold nose in Remus’s neck.

“Hey, V,” Remus murmurs, “can we, uh, can we get you out of the forest? It’s gonna get cold before too long, little monster.”

V nods, not moving.

“…can I carry you then, little monster?”

Another nod.

Scooping V gingerly into his arms, Remus hesitates. He doesn’t want to take V into his room, not now, but he also doesn’t want to push V too far, to push his way into V’s room.

“V? Little monster?” V moves a little bit. “Can we go into your room?”

“…stay?”

“Yeah, V, I’ll stay with you, little monster.”

Remus carries him inside, gently sitting on the floor with V still in his lap when he flinches at the noise the bed makes. He uses his tentacles to hold them slightly off the floor. He keeps rocking them slowly back and forth, murmuring _safe, safe, safe._

“…safe?”

“Yeah, V.” Remus swallows. “We’re safe.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” He adjusts his grip. “…you wanna talk about it? It’s okay if you don’t.”

V mumbles something.

“I can’t hear you, little monster,” Remus murmurs, shifting a little, “can you say it again?”

“…just names.”

“Names?”

V clutches Remus’s arms tightly. “…names they used to call me.”

“Like what? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he adds hastily.

V hooks his chin over Remus’s shoulder, still breathing hard. Remus glances around.

“Can I get you something to drink?” V nods. “Still want me to keep hold of you?”

“…please?”

“Sure.”

Tentacles are useful things. When V has a glass of water in his hands, Remus lets him sit back a little, drinking carefully as Remus runs his hands over V’s back. V’s eyes drift closed and he lets out a tired mumble.

“Sleepy?”

“Mm.”

Remus hums, letting V collapse a little bit more into his lap. He turns V slightly so that he can keep hold of the water.

“…said I was a demon.”

“What?”

“The…others,” V mumbles, fear and weariness warring in his tone, “said I was a demon. That I was…cursed.”

Words are so _fucking_ stupid.

Mortals are so fucking stupid.

“You’re not cursed, V,” Remus says firmly, “promise. We’d be able to tell if you were.”

“…really?”

“What the hell made them say you were cursed?”

V hesitates, little ripples appearing in the water. Remus tugs him closer, murmuring _safe, safe, safe._

“…my eyes,” V whispers, “they said my eyes showed I was…evil.”

Now _that._

_That_ is truly the fucking stupidest thing Remus has ever heard.

V giggles softly when Remus says as much, letting Remus stroke a hand through his hair and wrap his other arm firmly around his waist. He slips a hand slowly under V’s tunic, pressing against his tummy and rubbing.

“Mm,” V hums, “…warm.”

“Good,” Remus says, “good, V.”

He shakes his head. So fucking stupid.

“You’re not cursed, V. You’re not evil. You’re not a demon. Words are fucking stupid and mortals are stupid too.”

“…they are?”

“In big groups? Absolutely.” Remus sets his chin protectively on top of V’s head. “ _You_ are a smart one. And that’s good.”

“I’m good?”

The vulnerable shake in V’s voice coaxes Remus to guide V’s gaze upward.

“You are,” he says firmly, brushing the hair out of V’s violet, _violet_ eyes. “And your eyes are fucking _stunning._ ”

He chuckles when V flushes, trying to hide his face in Remus’s neck again.

“Princey must’ve had fun with you, hmm?”

“Still is,” comes the mumble.

“He’s not hurting you, is he?”

“…no, I’m just…not used to it.”

Remus hums, closing his eyes. The arm around V’s waist squeezes tightly. At the breath that sounds almost torn out of him, V relaxes.

“…is that what Oliver’s hugs feel like?”

Grinning, Remus squeezes him tighter. “You want to find out tomorrow?”

“…please?”

“Of course, little monster.”

V’s not cursed.

  
V’s not a demon.

And V’s eyes are _gorgeous._

Words are just fucking stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oliver, holding Remus: this bitch empty
> 
> V: 
> 
> Remus:
> 
> Oliver: YEET


	4. Logan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logan is not nearly as sentimental as the others...at least, that's what he'd have you believe.

“Duke, _no!”_

_Just ignore them. Just ignore them._

“Why not? It’s not like I’m hurting him!”

“Mortals are _fragile,_ Duke!”

“Oh come on, he’s not even bleeding!”

_That_ gets Logan’s attention. He stands up, tucks his notebook back into his pocket, and turns in the direction of the yelling. It’s coming from the lake. Sure enough, he barely has to come around the treeline before the reason for the yelling is made…quite apparent.

“Duke,” Logan says slowly, adjusting his glasses, “why is V currently being held by Oliver?”

Indeed, the Duke’s Kraken, affectionately named Oliver, has an arm wound tightly around V’s waist, holding him over the lake. Patton stands at the water’s edge, hands on his hips, engaged in a staring contest with Remus. Remus, perched indignantly on Oliver’s head, sticks out his tongue.

“We’re playing fetch.”

“V is not a _stick,_ Duke!” Patton looks frantically at Logan. “L, please tell the Duke V isn’t a stick.”

“V is not a stick, Duke.”

“You can play fetch with something other than a stick.”

“No, you can’t!”

“Not with that attitude you can’t!”

Logan pinches the bridge of his nose and leaves Remus and Patton bickering in favor of walking a little closer to V. V, despite being held several feet above the water’s surface by a _kraken,_ does not appear to be nearly as distressed as Logan would anticipate. Instead, he looks almost bemused.

“V?”

“H-hey, L,” V says, “didn’t mean to drag you into this.”

“It’s quite alright, V,” Logan assures, glancing over at Remus, now standing proudly on Oliver’s head, “although I do have questions.”

“Do I have to come down?”

“It might be helpful so that we can hear each other better.”

Logan expects V to holler to Remus to get Oliver to lower him or to try and get out of the kraken’s grip himself which would…not be ideal, but Logan is here to catch him. But instead, V simply pats the arm around his waist and Oliver lowers him neatly to the ground, keeping a light grip on V. Logan’s eye widen.

“…interesting.”

“Thanks, Ollie,” V mumbles before looking back up at Logan. “What’s up?”

Logan blinks. He was going to ask if V was comfortable with Oliver holding him and that he was an active participant in…whatever version of ‘fetch’ Remus is proposing, and yet V’s interaction with Oliver has rendered that question useless.

He relays as much to V who nods shyly. “I like Oliver.”

“I am no expert, but I would say that Oliver likes you too.” Logan allows himself a small smile at V’s eager expression. “What game are you playing?”

“Duke explained that Oliver likes playing fetch and uh…”

“Is fond of throwing the Duke across the lake?”

“…yeah.” V fidgets with his hands and mumbles something.

“What was that?”

“…wanted to try.”

“Being thrown?” V nods. “I see.”

“Then, uh, Pat came by the lake and—“

V gestures to the others still arguing, even though it no longer sounds like they’re on a _completely_ different topic. Logan shakes his head slowly, more inclined to agree with Patton on this subject, and yet…

As he looks at V, something changes.

“L!” Remus sprawls across Oliver’s head as opposed to simply turning around. “Tell Pat-Pat that there’s no _point_ in having a giant underground lake full of creepy shit if you don’t _use_ it!”

“That’s not what I said!”

Logan raises his voice to cut them off before they lose their trains of thought again. “As long as you are _careful,_ there is no reason why V can’t join your game.”

V’s wide eyes make him smile.

“In fact…there may be benefits to it.”

“Benefits?”

“ _May_ be?”

“Proper development of the vestibular sense is crucial for mortals,” Logan explains, “it encourages connection with the other senses and an understanding about where the body is in relation to its surroundings.”

Remus tilts his head. “…so you _gotta_ toss ‘em?”

“It doesn’t have to be tossing, no, but temporary disruptions to their balance are necessary, yes.” Logan glances at V. “Without it, it affects the function of other senses, leading to fidgeting, problems focusing and listening, among other things.”

A look of realization slowly dawns on V’s face, one that’s quickly followed by a flash of something that passes too quickly for Logan to catch. He frowns, making to ask V what’s wrong before Remus yells delightedly and Oliver scoops V up again.

“You heard the teacher! Toss!”

“Wait!”

Too late. V’s already in the air. Logan pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Duke, I specifically told you to be _careful.”_

“We’re being careful!”

“That was similar to how Oliver would throw _you,_ wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Tell me, Duke, what is V?”

“A mortal?”

“…so?”

Remus’s eyes widen and he curses. Oliver seems to get the message, taking off so quickly it knocks Remus off his head, sending him splashing into the lake. Logan watches as Oliver swims across the lake so quickly he can catch V before V hits the water. Judging by the Kraken's pleased rumble, perhaps this _new_ game is even better than the last one. Remus yells out once more before he speeds across the lake to join them, narrowly avoiding showering Patton and Logan with the spray.

“Be careful, kiddos!” Patton shakes a few drops of water out of his cloak.

Logan removes his glasses, cleaning them. “They will be,” he assures, “I do not believe even the Duke would intentionally hurt V.”

Patton huffs. “You say that like you don’t know that he’s the most protective one.”

“I believe both you and J could easily compete for that title.”

“He came to you for help about going feral,” Patton says softly, “he’s _never_ done anything like that before.”

They watch the three of them from the shore, smiling at the faint echoes from the other side of the water.

“…V is special to the Duke,” Logan says finally, “it’s not surprising that he wants to help.”

Patton gives him a look. “He’s not the only one.”

Before Logan can ask Patton what he means by that, he disappears into the forest.

Logan brushes it to the back of his mind, getting back to work. The growth rates in this part of the forest have altered lately, almost as if the aura was changing due to the influx of a new magical presence. Perhaps the proximity to the lake and thus a convergence of the Prince and the Duke’s influence affects the relationship the plants have with the earth…

He quickly loses himself in his observations, making careful notes as he walks along the paths. Time passes without his awareness until he realizes he’s been squinting at the flower in front of him. He cleans his glasses and starts back to the clearing. Typically he would simply sink into his realm. Yet he has to admit the doors do help to separate the time he spends working from his leisure time. Plus, the walk through the forest in the twilight is pleasant.

As of yet, he cannot explain how the fog that curls around the lake relates to the blending of the twins’ influence, but the magic that holds the mist intact as it moves through the trees is stronger than the ambient magic of the forest. If he were a different person, he would say it feels like a thin sheet.

Logan enters the clearing, about to walk through his door, when he catches sight of a silhouette perched on a tree stump. A few paces closer and V’s form resolves in front of him.

“V?” V jerks, relaxing when he registers Logan’s form. “It’s late.”

V nods, glancing around. Darkness settles over the clearing gradually. “Can’t sleep.”

Logan simply nods. “May I join you?”

“I-if you’re going somewhere you don’t have to—“

“I would like to,” Logan interrupts softly, “may I sit with you?”

Glancing at the stump, V shifts. “…dunno if there’s room.”

“That’s quite alright.” Logan waves his hand and a small group of the vines forms a swing.

“Whoa…”

“Would you like to sit with me?”

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

The swing is large enough for them to sit side by side without touching. V pulls his legs up, loosely wrapping his arms around his knees. Logan crosses his legs, keeping one foot on the ground to rock them gently back and forth.

“Are you alright, V?”

For a few moments, there is nothing but the soft breeze and the creak of the vines.

“…I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” Logan says quietly, “you don’t have to know.”

“Shouldn’t I, though?” The bitterness in V’s voice makes him look over, brow furrowing when he sees V’s mouth drawn tight. “It’s…it’s _me,_ shouldn’t I know what’s going on?”

“Have you been taught how mortal bodies work?”

“…huh?”

“Have you received any formal education about mortal bodies?” Logan tilts his head. “Or any education about them for that matter?”

“…no?”

“Then how can you be expected to know?” V’s face twitches. “You are not expected to know things that no one has ever told you.”

That flash appears again as V looks away and mumbles something.

“V?”

“’S not true.”

Logan tenses. “What do you mean, it’s not true?” He softens immediately when V stiffens at the unbidden anger in his voice.

V shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.”

_Don’t push; it will only make it harder for him to decide to open up to you._

Logan tilts his head back, looking at the trees. The sky is alight, letting the leaves stand out as the inky blackness. The breeze rustles through them.

“Thank you.”

He turns. V’s staring at him, worrying the edge of his tunic between his fingers.

“You’re welcome,” he says softly, “may I ask what specifically you’re referencing?”

“Earlier,” V says, “at the lake…the…vestibular sense thing. Made some things make sense.”

Logan waits.

“…is…is that why I’m like this?”

The shake in V’s voice makes Logan want to say _yes,_ that’s all this is, a little while of being tossed around by Oliver and Remus will fix everything but…

“No,” he says quietly, trying to soften it as much as he can. V’s shoulders slump. “It’s part of it, albeit a small part, but…it’s not everything.”

V’s head drops to his knees and a tremble makes the swing shudder lightly. Then he rests his chin on his folded arm.

“…you said it messes with focusing, right?”

“It can, yes.”

“Is it for everything?”

Logan frowns. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“I need—“ V cuts himself off.

“Go on,” he encourages, “you may tell me.”

“…I can’t…it’s too much nothing.” Logan waits, still swinging them gently back and forth. “I don’t…I still don’t know what you _want._ ”

Ah. “You need something to do.”

V nods. “I just don’t want to be a problem.”

“You’re not a problem, V,” Logan assures, “but I understand needing something to do.”

“You do?”

He nods. “Structure can help you adjust to a new environment, especially amidst times of high stress. Additionally—“ he glances over at V— “it may serve to…’pull you out of your head’ a little, so to speak.”

“Yeah…” V seems to relax a little more into the swing. “…yeah.”

“Do you know what you would like to do?”

V shakes his head. “Sorry.”

“You needn’t apologize, you haven’t done anything wrong. It’s a big question.” Logan taps his fingers idly against his knee. “Though perhaps it would do to remember Pat’s suggestion. If you cannot say what you _do_ want, try saying what you _don’t_ want.”

“I don’t want to be a burden.”

“Good…anything else?”

“I don’t…” V swallows. “I don’t want to…”

He raises his chin. “I want to _help._ ”

Logan can’t help the proud smile on his face. “Good job.”

“…for what?”

“You said what you wanted.” He tilts his head. “Would you like to help me?”

“With what?”

“An experiment I’m doing on the plants near the lake.”

“..sure.”

“Wonderful.” Logan stands up, offering a hand. V takes it and he pulls him gently to his feet. “Do you think you can sleep tonight?”

At V’s look of confusion, Logan clarifies. “You need rest, V, and establishing a regular sleeping pattern is going to be helpful. If you truly do not think you’ll be able to sleep, we can work with that, but you should try.”

V glances toward his room. “I, um, I’ll try.”

“Okay. Thank you.” V nods. “After you’ve eaten tomorrow, knock on my door, alright?”

When Logan shuts his own door behind him, he sets his notebook carefully on the table and leans against his desk.

What…what just happened?

He just invited V to help him with his work, that’s what happened. Something he has never trusted another living being with and V…V didn’t have to ask. It was simply the logical solution.

Well.

He has some other work to do in the meantime, then.

He should also try and get some rest, if only to make sure he’s not being hypocritical. Even though he is not mortal…it wouldn’t do to present V with conflicting influences.

By the time the timid knock comes to his door the next morning, he’s got another notebook, purple next to his dark blue, ready on his desk. He opens the door.

“Good morning, V. Have you eaten yet?”

He moves aside to let V in. “Just came from Pat.”

Logan can’t help but notice how V’s eyes dart around the space. More than the others, perhaps, Logan’s room is the most separated than what V may be used to. His is a study, with a large bookshelf, a desk, and a window that looks out into a part of the forest. V hovers a few paces away, looking around.

“Take your time,” Logan says, walking toward the desk, leaving the door cracked the tiniest bit, “an adjustment period is to be expected.”

“I know.”

“Have you been in rooms aside from your own and Pat’s as of yet?”

V shakes his head. “Just those two.”

Oh. Oh, that’s…well, Logan didn’t expect that. Patton, of course, was a given—V had fallen asleep there, after all. Remus…well, given V’s heightened stress levels it was for the best that he had recognized that perhaps limiting their interactions to this layer was the best.

But…none of the others?

The prince…the prince never passed up an opportunity to show off. Surely in a realm where his power increased almost exponentially…then again it might serve to _overwhelm_ as opposed to impress.

As for J…

Well. Attempting to decipher _his_ motivation was an undertaking all its own.

Logan tucks the little bit of warmth that rushes through his chest at this new bit of knowledge away to be analyzed later. For now, he simply watches V look around his room a few more times. The tension in his shoulders seems to disappear the longer he stays.

“V?”

“Huh?” V turns to him and Logan blinks. He’s…he looks…

“You look calmer,” he observes, “do you…feel different?”

“Yeah…yeah I think I do.” V opens and closes his hands, looking at them like he’s never really looked at them before. “I feel like I’m…not in my body? Like there’s a…a sheet of glass between me and…the bad stuff.”

Logan nods. “My room—my realm, in its entirety, is a little more removed from…emotions.”

“Why?”

Smiling a little at the first question V’s asked without being nervous, Logan gently raps his knuckles against the desk. “It is connected to me. Thus it behaves differently.”

V glances around again. “Is that why it feels…clear?”

“Clear?”

“Like it’s easier for me to think…less fuzzy.” V closes his eyes. “Like in the garden.”

“I suppose that is a good word for it,” Logan muses, tilting his head to watch V open and close his hands again, “clarity.”

“Is that what you do?” V looks at him. “Pat’s the heart…you’re clarity?”

Logan smiles. “That is an excellent way of describing it.”

V’s mouth quirks up before his gaze lands on something over Logan’s shoulder. His eyes widen.

“What is _that?_ ”

Logan beckons him over to the large glass bottle, unable to stop his smile growing wider as V stares at the plants inside. He is quite proud of this project, if he does say so himself.

“It’s what you’re going to be helping me with,” he says as he joins V, “at least in part.”

“What…what is it?”

“It’s a bottle garden.” Logan reaches out to tap the seal in the bottle’s neck. The bottle is about two and a half feet in diameter at the widest point and around three feet tall. “An isolated ecosystem.”

“A what?”

“An experiment.” Logan points to the green leaves that curl and press up against the glass. “This plant is called spiderwort. See the little drops of water?”

V nods.

“Those are condensation from the plant as it transpires. The water will run down into the soil to help sustain the plant which means I don’t need to water it.”

“Wait, wait…” V tilts his head. “You…you don’t water it?” Logan shakes his head. “Then how does it survive?”

“Because plants are autotrophs, the only external input it requires it light.”

“Plants are what?”

“Autotrophs. It means they can produce their own food.” Logan holds out his hand for V to take, carefully pulling him toward the side with more light. “Have you ever wondered why plants are mostly green?”

“Mhmm.”

“There’s a chemical in plant cells called chlorophyll. It’s what gives it that green color. That chemical helps plants turn a gas called carbon dioxide and water into food. All it needs is light”

.

“Whoa…” V reaches out to touch the glass. “Wish I could do that.”

_You can have all the food you want, V. No one will ever take food from you or starve you ever again._

“Where does it get carbon dioxide from?”

“It’s the gas we breathe out,” Logan says, “produced as a waste product from respiration.”

“Respi-what?”

“Respiration. That’s the process most living things do to survive. It involves breaking down the food you eat and the air you breathe in to give yourself energy.” Logan taps his own chest. “You need food—or more specifically, glucose—and oxygen to respire, and it produces water and carbon dioxide as waste products.”

V raises an eyebrow. “I’ve got _water_ in me?”

“Technically, yes, mortals are at least 70% water, but the waste water from respiration comes out in your breath.”

“It does _what?_ ”

“When you go outside in the winter,” Logan says, “and you can see your breath, that’s the water vapor condensing in the cold air.”

“Condensing?”

“Turning from a gas to a liquid.”

“Oh.” V looks back at the bottle. “Is…is that what’s happening here?”

“When the water droplets form on the inside of the glass? Yes.”

V nods, although it looks hesitant. Logan steps forward to ask what’s wrong when V’s head droops. “Sorry I’m asking so many questions.”

“Questions aren’t bad, V,” Logan says gently, “I’m pleased you’re asking so many.”

“Y-you are?”

Logan nods. “It shows you’re interested and you want to learn. That is _always_ something that pleases me.”

“Can I ask some more then?”

“Of course.”

V points to one of the leaves nearer the glass. “You said that plants only need sunlight, water, and carbon…dioxide?” Logan nods. “How does it get the carbon dioxide?”

“All living things respire. The carbon dioxide from the respiration is used for photosynthesis.”

“Then what does it need to respire?”

“Food—glucose—and oxygen.”

“Where does it get the oxygen?”

“Photosynthesis produces oxygen as a waste product.”

V frowns. “Wait…you need carbon dioxide and water to make photosynthesis happen…which gives the plant food and oxygen…”

Logan nods.

“But the plant also needs to make respiration happen…which needs food and oxygen…and makes carbon dioxide and water?” When Logan nods again, V’s face makes him chuckle. “So are they both just…not happening?”

Logan fetches the two notebooks from his desk and returns to V’s side. “Let’s say that this—“ he holds up his blue notebook— “is one set of ingredients, and this—“ he holds up the purple one— “is the other.”

He passes the purple notebook to V, smiling a little at the careful way V holds it. He places the blue notebook in his left hand and holds out his right.

“If you give me _your_ set of ingredients—thank you—I undergo my process and I produce the other, which _you_ need to complete yours.” He passes the blue notebook to V.

“You,” he continues as he switches the purple notebook to his opposite hand, “then undergo _your_ process and produce the first set of ingredients again.”

“So…” V cautiously holds the notebook out for Logan to take.

“Thank you. And I believe you need this.” They switch notebooks again. “It works as a circle,” Logan says as they begin passing the notebooks back and forth faster. “As one process is completed, it gives its waste products to the other so that the plant can live.”

They pass the notebooks around a few more times as V chews on his lower lip, brow furrowed in concentration.

“…okay,” he mumbles finally, “okay I got it.”

“Wonderful.” Logan sets the notebooks aside carefully. “Anything else?”

“What happens when parts of it die?” V points to a few brown leaves near the bottom of the bottle.

“The bacteria in the soil help break down the leaves and release more carbon dioxide.”

“What happens at night? When there’s no light?”

“Some of the food doesn’t get used right away. It gets stored inside the plant. During the night, the plant breaks it down to sustain itself.”

“Is that what happens with the water too?”

Logan nods. “The water drips into the soil, where the plant’s roots soak it in. After the plant is done with it, it gets released into the air through transpiration and the cycle begins again.”

“That’s really cool,” V murmurs, still staring at the bottle garden, “that’s… _really_ cool.”

“It was watered once,” Logan says, reaching out to trace the bottle as well, “when I first planted it. Then it was sealed and…it’s been doing perfectly well ever since.”

“Because…it makes its own food through photo…photosynthesis,” V says carefully, “which makes the things it needs for respiration…which _then_ makes more stuff it needs for photosynthesis…and it needs _light_ but at night it can use the food it’s stored away…and you don’t need to water it because it…reuses the water?”

Logan can’t help patting V’s shoulder proudly. “Excellent.”

Oh. Oh, V must not be used to being praised. He may have guessed.

V’s cheeks flush a light pink and he fidgets.

_The Prince can help with that._

“But if you don’t need to do anything,” V says hurriedly, “then what do you need my help for?”

“This,” Logan says, patting the bottle affectionately, “is a small-scale experiment. I need your help with the full scale one.”

He nods toward his desk. “Would you please grab the notebooks?”

V cradles them carefully as Logan opens another door, leading out to a different section of the forest. He closes the door behind them and makes a note to give V a passage to this section without having to go through his room.

“This,” Logan says, gesturing around, “is the full-scale experiment.”

“Are we in a bottle?” V blurts out, only to immediately wince and try to hide his face.

“In a way.” Logan holds out his hand and the barrier around the garden shimmers faintly. “We are in a closed system, but no, there is no literal ‘bottle’ in this sense.”

V nods, still looking around. He sticks by Logan’s side, despite Logan’s gentle encouragement that he’s allowed to walk around a little, it’s alright.

“Don’t wanna step on anything important.”

“I can assure you, these plants are quite resilient. You cannot hurt them.”

V still seems a little apprehensive. “So…why is this one different?”

“The bottle garden is composed of only _one_ plant. It’s a very controlled ecosystem. I’m curious if the same principles will still work practically with multiple species.” Logan holds out his hand. “May I have my notebook, please?”

V makes to hand both of them over when Logan stops him gently.

“The purple one is for you.”

V’s eyes widen. “W-what?”

“For you,” Logan repeats, smiling gently. “I find it helpful to write or draw things when I’m working. It may help you too, especially if you have questions or things you’d like to talk about when I’m not here.”

V, still holding the notebook like some precious artifact, almost drops it in shock. “Wait, you’re okay with me being here when you’re _not?”_

_“_ Yes.” Logan tucks his notebook into his pocket. “Are _you_ comfortable with being here when I’m not?”

Judging by V’s trembling hands, that’s a ‘no.’

“V,” he calls softly, waiting for V’s gaze to snap to him, “can you tell me what’s worrying you?”

“I—I—“

“Take your time,” he murmurs, “take your time and breathe.”

V breathes. He hunches his shoulders and draws a few shuddering breaths. Distantly, Logan thanks the part of himself that made sure this garden is _completely_ sealed off from the outside.

When V raises his head again, Logan reaches out and lightly touches his shoulder.

“Sorry.”

“It’s quite alright, you needn’t apologize.” He takes a small step closer. “Would you like to tell me what’s wrong?”

“’S just…too much.”

“Too much light? Too much scent?”

V shakes his head. “…too much.”

Logan thinks. “…too much to do?” V nods. “I see.”

“D-don’t take it away,” V blurts, “please, I—“

He shushes V gently. “I’m not taking anything away, you have my word. I believe I have not been as clear as I would like to be.”

“I think you’re doing great.”

It’s muffled, not meant for him to hear, and yet it sends a rush of warmth through him all the same.

“For the most part, we will be working together,” Logan says instead, “but there will be times where I must step away for a moment or _you_ will want to step away for a moment. If you think of something, the notebook is to help make sure you will not forget it.”

He moves his hand to rest on V’s arm. “Does that sound alright?”

V nods jerkily. “Can…can I write down what you told me about the bottle garden?”

“It’s your notebook, V, you may write down whatever you like.”

Logan turns away, moving a few paces to examine one of the blooming plants to give V some privacy. After a few moments of the scratching sounds of writing, he hears shuffling footsteps beside him.

“Shall I show you around?”

“Yes please.”

They walk slowly around the garden as Logan points out the different species of plants, how they work together, and V makes notes as they go, occasionally asking for Logan to repeat what he’s said or to clarify his last point. Logan makes note of which plants seem to be V’s favorites.

“Why these plants,” V asks as he scribbles something else down, “why not others?”

“Plants are very good at ‘scrubbing’ the air, so to speak.” Logan adjusts one of the branches so it doesn’t hit them in the face. “These are adept at both the physical air and the magical aura. In order to maintain the gateway garden, I want to investigate the best plants for it.”

“Is that the one I fell into?”

“Yes.” They round another corner. “J and I share responsibility for most of it. The prince and the Duke control the parts we do not.”

“What about Pat?”

“Pat takes care of the portal itself.”

V scribbles something else down, then he looks around at the garden and frowns.

“Is there something wrong?”

“With the bottle garden,” V says carefully, flipping back and forth over a few pages, “the whole thing is small enough to kind of…sit in the window so all of it gets light, right?”

“Correct.”

V points to the shadow cast by the walls. “What about them? Do they need less light or something?”

“They do,” Logan nods, “very well done.”

“But…” V frowns again.

“But?”

“In the gateway garden, there…aren’t walls.” V looks up at him. “If…if you need those plants to do things but they need less light, where will you put them?”

Logan smiles. “ _Very_ well done.”

“...so?”

Logan shrugs. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought about that.”

“O-oh.” V looks down. “I didn’t mean to—“

“V,” Logan interrupts gently, “I’m not angry. Quite the opposite.”

“Really?”

“Never be afraid of asking questions,” Logan encourages, “especially not with me.”

V’s nervous smile is enough to make Logan spend the rest of the day trying to keep it there.

It works. Logan made it clear that this isn’t a rigid schedule, V needn’t spend every waking second here, this was here as an _option_ for him. And yet, he still finds V with his notebook in hand quite often as they walk around the garden, keeping track of what’s growing well, what needs something, and which plants aren’t growing as compatibly as they could be. And V grows more comfortable.

“What makes the flowers different colors?”

“The different pollinators they need to attract respond to different colors due to coevolution.”

“What’s coevolution?”

Or:

“I saw this plant by the lake yesterday, Oliver tried to eat it.”

“Well, Oliver tends to try and eat a lot of colorful things.”

“Why?”

“Most of the food he eats underwater is distinguished by its bright colors.”

Or:

“How do you…find these plants?”

“The prince and the duke can create most of them, or at least seedlings from them. The others we can find by exploring the forest.”

“…your forest or…?”

“Mainly our forest, yes, because of the magical aspect. You needn’t go into the mortal forest ever again.”

“…promise?”

“You have my word.”

After that, V starts asking broader questions. About the nature of the forest, about the barrier between the rest of the forest and the garden, about how the link between the different ‘layers’ works.

Logan answers each one to the best of his ability, suggesting which of the others V should ask if it’s outside his area of expertise. When V asks about why Logan’s letting _him_ help, it’s the first time Logan has to pause for a while before answering.

“The others are good companions but we have…different working styles,” he settles on eventually, “and I’m not sure my garden would survive all of our…disagreements.”

He doesn’t notice V freeze until he hears the notebook hit the ground. At the soft _thwap,_ he turns around and is by V’s side in an instant, quietly asking what he can do.

“…you…fight?”

“Occasionally, why does…” Logan’s eyes widen in realization and he quickly crouches down around V. “We do not hurt each other, V.”

“But if you _fight—_ “

“We fight with words, with ideas,” Logan says softly, “but we still care for each other. Do you remember when Oliver first tossed you, how the Duke and Pat disagreed over whether or not it was a good idea?”

V nods.

“ _That_ is the type of fight I refer to. It’s harmless, for the most part, and no one is hurt.” He leans a little closer. “And we will _never_ hurt you.”

“Then why…why would the garden get hurt?”

Logan sits on the ground next to V. “The important part of an experiment is controlling all the variables you can, yes?”

“So you can keep track of what’s causing what.”

Logan nods. “The others have different magical auras.” He holds up his hand and lets it glow dark blue. “If they enter another realm, or another room, they can keep their auras under control to a certain extent, but only for a short amount of time.”

V’s breathing evens out. “So…it would throw off the experiment, not…not hurt it.”

“Yes,” Logan murmurs, “nothing would be hurt.”

He leans onto his hand to catch V as he lists to the side, weary from the emotional onslaught. As he does, his head lolls back against Logan’s shoulder. His eyes widen and he exhales sharply.

Logan follows his gaze upwards to see the starry sky.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He feels V nod against him. “Not used to it yet?”

“…never really looked up before,” V confesses, “couldn’t.”

Mm. Looking at the sky when one doesn’t feel safe is…not common. Logan moves so he can support V’s head a little better. He glances around. They’re not near any delicate plants. They have enough room…

“The best way to stargaze,” he murmurs, “is to lie down so you don’t hurt your neck.”

He expects V to shake his head, to say he’s perfectly alright like this, and it would be understandable. Instead, V shifts, moving his notebook out of the way and easing himself down onto his back. His hands twitch and he swallows heavily, but the trust in his gaze makes Logan a little light-headed.

He lays down too, close enough the V can reach out and find him if he needs to, but not too close that they’re touching. There are a few rustling noises as V shifts.

“C-can you talk?”

“Talk?”

“I—I can’t hear you, I don’t—I wanna know where you are.”

“I’m right here,” Logan says instantly, “I’m not going anywhere. And I’m happy to talk. What would you like me to talk about?”

“…how do the stars work?”

“What do you know already?”

“…not much.”

Logan takes a deep breath. “Stars are…fascinating things. They exist for billions of years and provide so much to the universe.”

He talks about hydrogen fusion, about the CNO cycle, about the different types of stars, and how they burn at different temperatures and different colors. As he talks, he feels V relax slowly into the grass.

“What…what happens when a star dies,” V mumbles after Logan finishes explaining the forming of constellations—which aren’t really formed, they’re simply one perspective of the night sky—“where does all the energy go?”

“Back into the universe.”

“…how?”

“There is a rule,” Logan murmurs, shifting a little to get more comfortable, “in the universe, that no energy is created and none is destroyed, it simply changes forms.”

A light breeze blows through the garden.

“That means when a star dies, when anything dies, every little piece that makes it up will go on to be part of something else.” He tries to think of an example V would know. “Like with the parts of the spiderwort that die. Those parts are broken down and remade into something new.”

“…that happens with everything?”

“Yes, V, everything.” Logan turns his head a little, just enough to see V’s silhouette against the dark. “Every plant…every animal… _everything.”_

V’s whisper is so quiet he has to strain to hear it. “Even me?”

“Even you.” Logan looks up at the sky. “A part of you may be part of a thundercloud, rain down on the lake. A part of you may _be_ the lake or the breeze that sends ripples across the surface.”

The night is quiet.

“A part of you may be a plant,” Logan murmurs, “and grow for years. A part of you may be one of the animals in the forest.”

He looks up into the sky full of distant lights.

“A part of you may even be part of a star, burning brightly so far away.”

A sharp exhale from next to him and he looks over, seeing the way V’s mouth parts slightly.

“You are a child of the universe,” he whispers, “and you always will be.”

Something brushes his hand. Then it does it again. Logan turns his hand over and lets V slip his hand through. He squeezes once, gently. Smiles when V squeezes back.

V stays closer to him for a few days as they work after that, before finally beginning to venture a little further away, then a little further, until one day Logan walks into the garden to see V already there, huddled around a plant. He looks up and waves before getting right back to work. Logan smiles for a while after that.

Then Logan asks V to fetch something from inside and he’s only gone a few minutes before there’s a loud crash.

Logan’s on his feet in an instant, dashing inside, only to see V huddled in the corner, his eyes wide, staring at the broken glass on the floor. His head jerks around when Logan appears in the doorway, scrambling back.

“Easy,” Logan says instantly, coming inside and crouching so V can see all of him, “easy, little one, it’s alright.”

“I’m—I’m sorry—it just—I couldn’t—I’m _sorry—“_

“Shh…shh, little one, it’s alright, I’m not upset.” Logan watches as V’s hands start moving to his hair, pulling. “Focus on me, little one, focus on me.”

V squeezes his eyes closed but nods his head.

“I need you to breathe for me,” Logan says, reaching out and placing his hand on the floor, trying to make his realm _settle,_ block out everything and focus on _calm, safe, quiet._ “Just like that, good.”

It takes much longer than he would like for V to finally look at him properly. “…you’re not mad?”

“No, V, I’m not mad,” Logan says, “are _you_ hurt?”

He shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. As long as you’re not hurt. That’s what I’m worried about.”

“B-but it’s yours,” V manages, “and—and I broke it.”

“It’s just an object, V, you’re more important than that.”Logan stands slowly, waving his hand to vanish the shards of glass. “No harm is done. There’s an extra glass over here.”

As he takes it down from the shelf, he notices V still curled up in the corner. He frowns, setting it aside and holding out his hand.

“Will you come here for me?”

V flinches.

“I won’t hurt you,” he soothes, “I won’t even touch you if you don’t want.”

Standing is a battle; Logan can see it. Walking over is another one. He keeps himself open, doesn’t move, leaves his hand there if V wants it. When V takes it, he moves closer, gently cupping the back of V’s neck. He rests their foreheads together.

“Do you believe me,” he whispers, “that I’m not angry?”

He’s rewarded with a small nod.

“You’re allowed to make mistakes, V, we all make them.” He draws back. “No harm has been done. And I won’t hurt you, none of us will.”

They go back to the garden, and if V hovers a little closer and prefers to write in his notebook, Logan doesn’t comment.

There are a few more bumps. V spills one of the new seedlings and the soil gets all over their notebooks. He oversleeps one day and shows up out of breath. He accidentally works on the wrong side of the garden for a shift.

Each time, Logan talks to him calmly, assures him that nothing’s gone too wrong, they can fix it, that it’s alright. And each time, V calms a little bit faster.

One day, he comes in to see V crouched in the corner.

“Good morning,” he calls, stooping to pick up his own notebook, “did you rest well?”

He frowns when he realizes V’s in the same position he left him last night. There was a new plant that had been having some difficulty; its stem had torn during transport and had to be monitored. V had volunteered to watch it for a little longer. Has…has he stayed out all night?

“V,” Logan says, approaching slowly, “it’s alright, you can leave it for a little, I’m happy to…”

He trails off, the rest of the chide catching in his throat as he looks down.

V is asleep, still curled protectively around the plant. As Logan bends down, he notices a small stick strapped to the stem, splinting it in place as it grows. V’s hand reaches out for it, almost in offering, as if the plant would reach out if it needed comfort in the night.

“Oh, V…”

Logan takes V’s notebook and his own and sets them aside, carefully unbuttoning his suit jacket and draping it over V. Curled up as he is, it covers him completely. He smooths the material over V’s shoulders.

“How sentimental.”

Logan turns. J stands at the door, leaning against the frame. He raises an eyebrow and looks Logan up and down.

“What would the others think,” J muses as Logan stands, dusting himself off, “about you acting so…emotionally? Surely the logical thing would be to wake him up, send him to his room. And yet he is allowed to remain…covered with something that is _not_ designed to be used as a blanket.”

He smirks when Logan shoots him a look.

“And such _tenderness_ too.” He covers his mouth with a gloved hand in a mock gasp. “From someone who would be perfectly content to never experience physical contact every again, from someone who _prefers_ refraining from physical contact.”

J chuckles when Logan rolls his eyes.

“As if _you_ have any right to talk.” Logan gives V one last glance before turning to J. “You made a claim that carried such a weight that it dragged up the portal before Pat made it visible. Out of all of us, _you_ have been the gentlest with him. And as for physical contact…”

Logan folds his arms.

J looks down at V, his expression softening, the fingers on one hand absentmindedly toying with the seams on the glove. He doesn’t try to argue—good, he would lose—and simply sighs.

“How many times,” he murmurs finally, “have we stopped the others from trying to adopt a mortal?”

“14 times in the last century.”

“And how many times have those been justifiable, perfectly argued with the rules that we have all agreed on?”

“Every single one.”

J straightens, looking at V with such an open expression of concern that Logan winces in sympathy.

“Then how is it that this one appeared and we melted?”

Logan does not have an answer. Neither, it seems, does J.

“Did you need something?”

J tilts his head. “Not specifically. Simply curious.”

“About?”

He knows he’s in for it when J’s smirk reappears. “Surely it can’t have escaped your notice that V has been spending a _considerable_ amount of time with _you,_ in _your_ room.”

Logan adjusts his glasses unconsciously.

“The rest of us are quite bereft of our little V,” J continues, smirk widening, “you’ve been hoarding him all for yourself?”

“V is free to make his own choices,” Logan says firmly, “it is not my fault if he chooses to spend his time helping me.”

“Oh, of _course,_ it’s not.”

“Perhaps you should think of your own ideas then, instead of being envious of mine.”

“Me? Envious? _Never_.”

Logan just gives him a look. J chuckles.

“Alright, alright.” He waves his hand. “That’s enough.”

“Mm.”

“It is odd though, isn’t it?” J gestures between them. “That we have become so…changed.”

Logan looks down at V, still tucked underneath his jacket. Despite his teasing, J is right. If someone had told Logan he would be inviting a mortal into their realm, into _his_ garden, letting them sleep with his suit jacket draped over them…he would have shut the door in their face.

“Oh how the mighty have fallen,” he hears J murmur distantly, “brought down in the face of one lost, scared child.”

They freeze when V mumbles in his sleep, shifting slightly, only to ball up one of the jacket sleeves in a loose fist and snuggle into it.

“…despite how much of a departure it has been,” Logan says, unable to stop smiling, “I’m not at all incentivized to change.”

“No,” J agrees, “neither am I.”

And they don’t. None of them do. Patton still eats and bakes with V, Remus still spends time with him at the lake. J will curl up in sunny spots in the forest with V nearby. The prince will go on walks around the forest with V at his heels. Logan works in the garden, side by side with him.

It’s pleasant.

Then Logan walks into the clearing one morning and has to brace himself against the door. Something’s wrong. Something’s terribly wrong.

Patton appears a moment later from inside V’s room, catching Logan’s gaze in the window. He shakes his head minutely. Logan clenches his jaw and stays put. A few seconds later and the prince’s door whips open so far the air whistles.

Logan reaches out and grabs his arm. “We can’t.”

“I know,” he mutters, grabbing Logan back, “I know we can’t.”

They stare at V’s room, holding each other still. Remus tears into the clearing a few moments later and grabs them too, not feral but close.

“Where’s J,” Remus growls after a moment, “where’s J?”

“Is he inside?”

“I haven’t seen him.”

_I’m at the Gate,_ comes the message, making all of them relax a little, _at V’s request._

Logan turns toward the portal. _Anything?_

_No._

A few seconds later and Patton emerges, shushing their questions and guiding them into his room before sighing. The prince pulls him into his arms immediately and Remus hugs him from behind. J arrives and leans against the wall.

“It’s just one of those days,” Patton mumbles after a moment, letting the prince run his hand through his hair, “nothing we can do, really.”

The knowledge doesn’t make the situation any easier.

“Healing is not a straight line,” Logan murmurs as the prince helps Patton to the couch, “it’s…complicated.”

“I know. I just—“

Patton sighs, leaning further into the prince.

“…to take it all away,” he mumbles, “and make this _easier.”_

“We could always—“

_“No,_ Duke,” J says firmly, cutting Remus off before he can propose burning down the village again, “that would _not_ help.”

Remus pouts and snuggles closer to Patton’s back. Patton reaches back and awkwardly pats his arm.

“Someone should keep an eye on him,” he says quietly, “just in case…”

“We’ll take turns,” J says firmly, “it’s not fair if it’s all on you.”

They do. J takes the first shift as the rest of them help Patton recover. Then Remus, calling up one of his newest creations and toying with it on the stump. Then the prince, with his back against the tree, idly helping the vines grow stronger.

As the sun begins to hide behind the trees, Logan gently taps the prince’s shoulder and the prince gives him a nod. As the red door closes, Logan makes another swing, leaning his head back to look at the clouds.

Movement.

He looks, catching sight of V coming out of his room. V glances around, seeing Logan on the swing. Logan pats the empty space next to him. V sits, pulling his knees up to his chest.

He doesn’t speak. Logan doesn’t push. Instead, he rocks the swing gently, tipping his head back to watch the clouds. V wraps his arms around his legs and holds tightly. A couple of times, more movement draws Logan’s attention; V will open his mouth and close it without saying anything, his hands will ball into fists, his forehead will drop to his knees. Each time it becomes a little harder to stay still, stay quiet.

When V reaches up to his face, his hand a claw, making to scratch his skin, Logan breaks, reaching out to intercept it before V can do it and gently tangling their fingers.

“Don’t do that,” he says softly, “please.”

He can’t help the soft noise he makes when V turns to him, eyes rimmed red, jaw shaking. Slowly, slow enough that V can pull away if he wants, he reaches out to wipe the lone tear away from his cheek.

The hand in his tenses. A dull ache blooms in his chest as he watches. V’s shaking against his palm and so unsure of whether he’s going to pull away. Then his eyes squeeze shut and forces himself away.

“Hey, hey,” he calls, concerned, “where’re you going?”

“S-sorry.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” he assures, keeping a hold on V’s hand, “but you don’t have to pull away if you don’t want to.”

“This is so _stupid,”_ V hisses, “it’s so stupid, it’s so stupid and I—I can’t do anything and I keep crying and—and I don’t just wanna _cry_ all the time and it’s so fucking _stupid—“_

“Shh, shh,” Logan murmurs, reaching out to cup V’s face in his hands, “you’re not being stupid, little one, it’s alright.”

“But I’m still _doing this_ and I shouldn’t be and I—“

“That’s enough,” he says when V tries to scratch again, “hush now, come here…”

V buries his head in his hands—not scratching, thankfully—and whines. Logan rests their foreheads together, pushing _easy, easy…breathe…settle…safety._

“You’re healing, V,” he murmurs, “and this is how. Shh, shh, it _is,_ little one. Your system knows it’s safe, now, or at least it’s starting to, and it’s letting itself start trying to figure everything out.”

“It—it _hurts._ ”

“I know, little one, I know.” Logan rests his chin on top of V’s head. “I know it hurts…but you can’t stop here. Healing isn’t a straight line, little one, it’s going to feel worse before it feels better.”

“Why can’t it just _stop?_ ”

The plea in V’s voice aches as he pulls V closer, rubbing his head gently with his fingertips. He keeps murmuring gentle encouragement, soft reassurances, until V slumps into his hold.

“You’re doing very well,” Logan says quietly, “I’m proud of you.”

“…you are?”

“Yes, little one, I am.” He gently lifts V’s chin and wipes away another tear. “So proud.”

V swallows. “C-can I ask you a question?”

“Of course, little one, you needn’t ask.”

“Why…why are you being like this with me?” At Logan’s head tilt, V stammers: “I—I just—you…you’re not…normally?”

“Like what, little one,” Logan asks gently, shifting so he’s facing V properly.

“The others…they say you’re not normally so…”

Ah. “You were awake that morning,” he murmurs, “weren’t you?”

V nods.

“J has a point,” Logan admits, “and I presume the others have made similar comments?” V nods. “Then they _all_ have a point. I am not typically so…openly affectionate.”

V mumbles something. Logan chucks him lightly under the chin. “A little louder, please?”

“…said you went soft.”

“Was that the prince?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, _he_ at least is in a position to talk,” Logan mutters, “ _J,_ on the other hand…”

It makes V giggle which is the important part.

“And you’re curious as to why I am so… _soft_ with you?” At V’s hesitant nod, Logan smiles. “What if it’s because I _should_ be soft with you?”

“…what?”

“You have survived terrible things,” Logan says quietly, “and you are just starting to heal from them. Healing things must be treated gently and with care.”

V’s breath hitches. Oh. Oh, dear.

“The flower you feel asleep protecting, it was healing, wasn’t it?” V nods. “In many ways, this is how I feel about you.”

Logan takes a deep breath, leaning forward to touch their foreheads again.

“I am…protective of you,” he confesses, “you mean a great deal to me. And you, you are so…so _ready_ to be hurt and I will _never hurt you._ So yes, V…I’m being gentle.”

“… _fuck._ ”

Logan lets V bury his head in his shoulder and cry.

* * *

“Hey, L?”

“Yes?”

V looks up at him from his spot on the swing. “What’s a family?”

Logan blinks. “A…a family?” V nods. “Well, in terms of some scientific classifications, a family is the name for one of the groupings of living organisms.”

“I mean like—like _people_ family.”

V shifts to listen properly as Logan turns to him, brow’s furrowed.

“Well…technically speaking, a family is a group of people that share a biological relationship through genetic material, but—“ he lays his hands in his lap— “in a broader sense, a family is a group of people that care deeply about each other. They support each other and form an environment that feels safe for the people involved.”

“W-what else?”

Logan sighs. “I believe Pat would be a better person to ask about this, my expertise in this area is limited.”

“Pat was telling me a story,” V mumbles, “mentioned a family. I, uh…wanted to know…I wanted to ask you.”

Logan adjusts his glasses. “I see. Well…I would say a family is…a family is _home.”_

“Home?”

“Somewhere you feel safe, where you know you will be cared for.” Logan looks at V. “Where you know you won’t be hurt, and you will be surrounded by people who love you.”

V swallows heavily. “A-are…are you my family?”

Oh.

_Oh._

“If you would like me to be,” he murmurs, “I would be honored to be part of your family.”

“Can the others be too?”

“If you wish, I— _oh._ ”

V all but throws himself into Logan’s arms, making the swing falter. Logan hugs back tightly, unable to stop the smile spreading across his face. He feels it start to seep into the bond and he bends down.

“I think the others heard you,” he whispers, “and I imagine they will _also_ want to hug you, if that’s alright.”

“…we should get off the swing, then.”

Logan chuckles, helping them to the ground and waving his hand to let the vines disappear. Sure enough, not a few seconds later, Remus drops from the trees and wraps his arms around the both of them with an excited squeal.

“Aww! I love you too, little monster.”

Then comes the prince, who gasps at the fact that Remus got here _first,_ that’s _rude,_ don’t tell him he should’ve been faster, he was _working,_ move over!

Then Patton, dashing out of his door and almost skidding into them, wrapping his arms around V and letting him rest his head against his collarbone.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

“Oh, come off it,” the prince huffs, “we know you want to hug him just as bad, get down here.”

“ _Rude,_ ” J mumbles, somehow managing to wrap his arms around _all_ of them. Well, he does have _six._ He chuckles when V bonks his head affectionately against his. “Hello, little mouse.”

“Hi,” V mumbles, his speech becoming more slurred. “‘M tired.”

“You go to sleep then,” Patton says gently, “we won’t go anywhere.”

“Damn right,” Remus mutters, shoving the prince over. Logan rolls his eyes and pulls V more fully onto his lap. “Hey! Stop hogging him!”

“Shh! He’s trying to sleep!”

“You shh!”

“ _Kiddos._ ”

“Sorry.”

“Sorry.”

J chuckles, stroking through V’s hair. He whines softly and the prince gasps.

“Oh, he’s _adorable!_ ”

“Isn’t he?”

“Wait, do it again.”

He does, gently scritching his fingers around the crown of V’s head. Then he gets a gleam in his eye and Logan tenses. A second later, the others are making their own noises of contentment as one of J’s hands stroked through _their_ hair.

“I regret to inform you,” Logan says quietly, “that you are _all_ adorable.”

J chuckles in agreement. Then, of course, V decides to flop onto Logan’s shoulder and on instinct, Logan rests his head against V’s. J smirks.

“Oh, dear…”

“Hush.”

“I hardly said anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Mm.” J’s fingers tap lightly against Logan’s neck, working their way between his head and V’s. It sends a shiver down Logan’s spine.

“You talk a big game,” J murmurs back, giving Logan’s head a gentle flick, “about the others being overprotective and prone to emotional choices, but _you…”_

He smirks and motions to V, dozing on Logan’s shoulder.

“You know you’re _just_ as bad as they are, don’t you, honey?”

“As are _you._ ”

“Oh, did I say that I wasn’t? I missed the part when I said that.”

“Again, you didn’t have to.”

J huffs, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Oh, please. _I’m_ not the one who believes I don’t _have_ emotional decisions, only logical ones. _I_ haven’t rationalized my emotional decisions _as_ logical ones, only making me more susceptible to them.”

He chuckles when Logan elbows him half-heartedly.

“I know why _my_ behavior has changed,” Logan murmurs, too low for any of the others to hear, “do _you?_ ”

It wipes the smirk of J’s face, that’s for sure. He looks at V, then back to Logan.

“Mortals are meant to be separate,” he whispers finally, “they are not meant to _stay. We_ are not meant to care for them.”

“And yet—“ Logan cups V’s head protectively— “here we are.”

“Here we are,” J agrees, “sleep well, little mouse.”

And…if this is what a family is, then Logan firmly believes that _everyone_ should have one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Logan: I have no feelings. I have no attachment to this mortal. 
> 
> Everyone, watching him be somft: ...you sure about that
> 
> Logan, V halfway on his lap, stroking his hair: yep


	5. Roman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touch-starvation is an…interesting condition of mortals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, sitting down to write this chapter, jokingly: wow this is roman's perspective, better be sure to keep the gay at reasonable levels huh
> 
> me, not even halfway through writing: wow hey this is kinda gay but not that much, maybe i got this
> 
> me:
> 
> me: 
> 
> me: ...wow.
> 
> me: i have been a fool
> 
> me: also holy FUCK this is really gay

Touch-starvation is an…interesting condition of mortals.

Quite frankly, the design of mortals is more than a little…ludicrous, if Roman’s being _completely_ honest. The way their bodies fit together is an impressive feat, sure, but there are so many little things that make them so fragile and so susceptible from tiny things just ever so slightly off-kilter, and there can be so many _problems_ that have no clear solutions, and their minds aren’t exactly adept at informing them of exactly what is wrong. Well, at least they’re not horses.

Wow, Roman’s starting to sound a little like Logan.

That’s no bad thing, though don’t tell Logan he said that. 

Roman runs his hand along the sapling in front of him, coaxing the leaves to unfurl in the warm light. They trail along his fingers, almost reaching out for him, little red sparks in their wake. The sight brings a smile to his face and he lets his hand drag a little, just enough so that the leaves can brush his hand again. The sapling rustles happily and begins to sway in the breeze.

Next to him, his little fawn nuzzles into his hand. Without thinking, he turns his palm over so she can lap gently at his fingertips, likely tasting the last of the fruit from Patton’s breakfast. Roman chuckles as she wiggles her little nose at him, displeased that there’s nothing else for her to eat.

“Over there,” he says, pointing to a thriving berry bush, “you may eat your fill.”

With a happy flick of her tail, the fawn trots off, her hooves clipping lightly against the stones on the ground. She buries her head in the berry bush and the leaves rustle as she feeds. Roman simply waits, his head tilted to one side. Sure enough, after a few moments of feeding, the fawn’s dappled fur turns from a warm chestnut to a pale purple, almost as if the berries are staining her from the inside. She blinks, turns to look at her back, and yips happily, diving right back into the berries with more enthusiasm.

“It suits you,” Roman murmurs, mostly to himself.

A few moments later and there’s a crashing of branches. He turns, watching a few more fawns and a larger deer make their way through the forest. The youngest of the fawns squeal in excitement when they see their sister’s new color, rushing over to the berry bush and quickly becoming the same shade. The buck moves more sedately, lightly nudging Roman with his muzzle. Roman looks.

“Oh, you,” he sighs fondly, beginning to untangle the mass of greenery in the buck’s antlers, “have you been roughhousing in the deep woods again?”

The buck nods, a little shameful, then pushes its nose gently into Roman’s chest.

“Hold _still,_ I don’t want to hurt you.”

If you ask Roman, he’d probably tell you he’s sure the bucks do it just so he’ll dote on them. And yes, perhaps he _does_ dote on them a little more than absolutely necessary. He could just wave his hand and vanish the plants entirely, but he would run the risk of accidentally hurting them. Plus, they’ve grown used to his attention by now; vanishing it would only encourage them to get _more_ tangled up in the plants.

He works carefully, deftly finding the loose strands and leaves and pulling them away, careful to run his fingers up and around the antlers to make sure there aren’t any snags he’s going to hit. A few of them are stubborn, he’s learned, and there are sometimes thorns that dig into the antlers and will hurt if he yanks too hard. He has to start near the tips of the deer’s head, work his way down patiently, let them nuzzle and nip at his clothes as he works. Occasionally he’ll sit with a pile of berries or another snack in his lap if they’ve made a particular mess of themselves and have them lie down, their head in his lap as they eat, picking slowly away at the snacks as he picks slowly away at the mess they’ve made of themselves. He’s lucky this time, it looks like it’s just one very persistent vine that’s wound its way around the antlers.

A pile of scraps grows slowly next to him as he works, the fawns nibbling away at the berries as the buck stands patiently. He keeps muttering gently to the buck, saying that he should know better than to try and wrestle in the deep woods, that’s where the vines are, that’s where all the grasping stuff is, why can’t they wrestle in the clearings, where it’s less likely they’ll get hurt? No, he’s not mad, just a little disappointed. Don’t make that face at me, young buck.

A while later, he pulls away the last piece of greenery and steps back, hands on his hips.

“Well, now,” he says, giving the buck a final once over, “I’d say that’s a job well done. Now, you know the _rules,_ young buck, no wrestling for a little while, hmm?”

The buck huffs, nudges Roman’s side in thanks, and goes to gently nose the fawns that have been growing more and more purple. Roman just laughs, shaking his head fondly. Then he looks down at his hands, turning them over.

A little of his magic still tingles at the tips of his fingers, turning them a little pinker than normal. He didn’t even realize he was using it, just to coax the buck into relaxing a little bit more, to shush, be still, let him work. But he doesn’t have to, does he? Not with his creatures. They trust him, they don’t shy away from his touches. Roman can’t imagine being afraid of physical touch, of not being able to trust it.

He knows that he isn’t mortal, his body doesn’t respond the same way to a lack of physical contact. Not that it ever _would…_ between Remus and Patton he’s spoiled for physical affection.

But V…

That first day, in the garden. When Roman returned from that _stupid_ little side quest he’d been sent on to see a _tiny_ mortal wrapped up in the arms of a snake, well…Roman’s not too proud to admit he thought they’d found themselves a plaything. Mortals are so fragile, so easily swayed, so _sweet,_ and he’d been half-convinced the snake was about to gobble him up. So yes, he’d walked over and spoiled his game, just a little, just enough to pay him back for sending Roman on a wild goose chase after an alleged bird had taken Patton’s best glasses.

And _oh,_ that sweet little face…those little noises, what was Roman supposed to do, _not_ stroke their sensitive little cheeks? They were so cold, so small, so determined with their eyes squeezed shut and their hands balled at their sides. Mortals aren’t meant to be clenched up in a tight little ball all the time, frowning and tensing and always bracing for bad things. No, mortals were supposed to smile too, to laugh, to look happy, to be soft. And this poor little thing had looked so scared, so upset—well, in fairness to V, having the _snake_ be the first one he met would have been difficult for even the most elite of mortal champions—so of _course,_ Roman was going to try and tap-tap-tap those walls and get them to relax.

There is something to be said about power and pleasure. Any bumbling fool can inflict pain, and sure, pain has its uses, but…for better or for worse, most living things—mortals especially—are built to deal with pain. They don’t like it. They know how to fight against it. But mortals were never designed to fight what feels _good._ Pleasure had someone who was expecting pain as disoriented as a baby bird that just hit glass.

Little V had melted, first for the snake, then for Roman, falling apart and so _confused,_ so worried about what to do, what to expect, what _they_ would do. And yes, Roman knew both he and J had been using _some_ of their magic, just for fun, but when he watched J fluster the poor thing _without_ any magic, beyond just showing off, he wondered.

Roman eases himself down to the ground, watching as the little fawns yip and scurry around each other. One of the larger ones bounds over to him, snuffling gently at his hair and folding its spindly legs. He reaches out and lets it rest its head in his lap.

J wears gloves for a reason. He holds himself apart from everything for a reason. He set up the rules regarding the treatment of mortals for a _reason._

And yet…he was there _first,_ made _sure_ of it, and made a claim so strong it still bathes V in golden light.

Roman shakes his head lightly, pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind. Trying to figure out J’s motivations was never a good way to pass the time.

The _point_ is that J is the _last_ one Roman would’ve expected to wrap V in a protective embrace, much less _prevent_ Roman from making an innocent little grab for a mortal soul. Which…alright, probably wouldn’t’ve been _that_ innocent, but it’s not like Roman would do it _now._ Not knowing what he knows.

Mortals aren’t supposed to have that much pain. Not ever. And _no_ mortal is supposed to have almost no happy memories.

Roman glances over his shoulder toward the lake. He knows why his brother is so protective of V. Well, _all_ of them are, but Remus especially. No happy memories, so much darkness, so much _pain…_ no wonder V melted at a little bit of pleasure.

He lets his head fall back, rolling his neck. The fawn in his lap bleats gently and gets up, going back to the bush. Roman stands, absentmindedly dusting himself off. Then one of the other fawns turns, her tail flicking up into the air, before bounding over to jump off a log into—

“Whoa!”

Roman chuckles as V catches the fawn in his arms, awkwardly cradling her to his chest. The poor thing looks like _he’s_ the one that just fell, eyes wide, mouth stammering, holding as still as possible so he doesn’t accidentally drop her. As he watches, she twists in his arms, lapping at his cheek with her tongue and snuffling happily. V’s face turns bright red.

“She likes you,” Roman calls, making his way slowly over to them, still chuckling a little at how shaken V looks at having this adorable little fawn kissing his face, “good catch.”

“Thanks,” V says hoarsely, “uh…what do I do?”

“Well, you can keep holding her if you’d like, but you may also put her down.”

“Yeah, uh, right, how do I…”

Roman reaches out and strokes the fawn’s little head. “Down, girl? You want to go down?”

She licks at Roman’s fingers.

“Alright. Easy does it. Just bend a little…”

Luckily for the both of them, once the fawn realizes she’s not going to fall, it just takes them crouching a little more for her to get her legs under her and scamper off with one last nuzzle into V’s neck. Just enough to keep that absolutely lovely shade of red on his face.

“Adorable.”

V stares at the fawns flitting around the berry bush. “They are.”

“I was talking about _you._ ” Roman laughs when V tries to glare at him, undone by the blush that softens his glare to a pout. “Cutie pie.”

V whines, worrying his hands into his sleeves. “ _Stop_ it. _”_

“But you’re so lovely, V,” Roman insists, smiling, “and you make it so easy!”

“No, I _don’t_!”

“Of course you do, cutie pie,” he coos, “all I have to do is talk like _this._ ”

“N-no, don’t _do_ that,” V stammers, burying his face in his hands so Roman can’t see his smile, only for Roman to catch his hands and effortlessly pull them out of the way.

“Aww, you really like the gentle, sweet, soft voice, don’t you, beautiful? Look at how _red_ you are.” He chuckles at V’s indignant noise. “So all I have to do to flirt with you is talk like this to you~”

“ _Mmm!”_

“Hmm?” Roman tilts his head. “What’s that, pretty one?”

“It’s not even _flirting,_ ” V manages, still looking as if he’s trying to sink into the ground.

“It’s flirting to _you,_ ” Roman coos, “and there’s _nothing_ I enjoy better than being able to render you speechless like this.”

_“Prince!_ ”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, letting V go and watching him scrub his hands over his face and whine, “I’m being mean, aren’t I?”

“ _Yes._ ”

_Good, he’s not blaming himself for everything anymore._

“What brings you to this part of the forest, V?” Roman stands. “I imagine it wasn’t this.”

V lowers his hands, his cheeks still flushed, taking Roman’s offer and getting up. “I, uh, well…”

Roman waggles his eyebrows and V scrunches up his face again.

_“Stop_ that, oh my god.”

“I didn’t even say anything this time.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Oh?”

“Oh my god, _stop._ ”

“I’m done, I’m done,” Roman soothes, “I’m done, little honeybee. What do you need?”

V fidgets with his hands, twisting his fingers together. “…L said I…I’m…am I touch-starved?”

Roman blinks. “I believe so, V, has L said you are?”

“Not outright, but it, uh, it makes sense.”

“Mm.” He reaches out to fix V’s collar, unable to stop the soft noise that escapes when V shivers. “Are you cold, little honeybee?”

V shakes his head. “‘M fine.”

“You’re shaking a little,” Roman points out softly.

“I’m okay.”

He lets it go. “Did L send you here?”

“…not really.” V shifts, still worrying the ends of his sleeves. “I, uh, he said that I should…try and get used to it.”

“Physical touch?”

V nods. “A-and…”

Roman frowns a little when V trails off. “And?”

“…compliments.”

_Ah._

“And are you…alright with that?”

V looks up. “Huh?”

“Do you want that, V,” Roman says softly, “do you want _me_ to help you with that?”

“Is…isn’t that what I’m supposed to do?”

“You’re supposed to be _healing,_ ” Roman murmurs, turning to watch the fawns squabble over the berries, “and…yes, that would be part of it, but rushing it, especially this, wouldn’t be helpful.”

V chews on his lip as Roman tells him he’s going to give him a moment to think, he’s just going to go over to the bush, alright? A few of the fawns nibble at his trousers as he goes, absentmindedly petting their heads as he gently lifts one of them so she can reach the berries.

“Prince?”

“Mm?”

“I, um…” V clears his throat. “Will you help me with, um, with…this?”

Slowly, ever so slowly, Roman sets the fawn down, straightening back up as V starts to stammer.

“I—I think I want—it’s been helping and I—I need to be able to get comfort from y-you guys and I—I feel safe with—but if you don’t—“

“V,” Roman says softly, “come here.”

“What?”

Roman crooks his finger. “Come here.”

V hesitates.

“Don’t be afraid,” he murmurs, “I won’t hurt you, you have my word. I won’t tease either. Just come here, little honeybee.”

Roman keeps his word; when V finally gets the courage to take a few tiny steps until almost pressed up against Roman, he doesn’t smirk, doesn’t coo, just whispers: “…good.”

_Start off small, don’t overwhelm the poor little thing, hmm?_

“May I touch you, little honeybee?” V nods, not looking at him. “I’m afraid I’m going to need a verbal confirmation for this one.”

“…yes.”

“Thank you,” Roman says, carefully cupping one hand around V’s elbow. “Is there anywhere you would _not_ like to be touched right now?”

“Wrists,” V blurts immediately, “not my wrists.”

“I won’t touch your wrists.” Roman begins to move his hand, traveling slowly up, up, up to V’s shoulder, his thumb stroking the outline of V’s collarbone. “Anywhere else?”

V mumbles something unintelligible. Roman lifts his hand away only for V to make a noise of protest.

“I need you to answer me, little honeybee,” he says softly, “not your wrists, anywhere else?”

“…not b-below my—my—“

“…not below your waist?” V nods, the pleasant haze fading as something else bubbles up vacant behind his eyes. Quickly, Roman lays his hand back on V’s shoulder, rubbing gently. “Good. _Good,_ V, good job.”

V’s eyes drift closed, his head drooping forward to thud lightly against his chest. Roman shakes his head slowly, watching V’s chin hit his own sternum hard enough for him to hear it, certain any chide he tries to give will be ineffective. He keeps up the slow, gentle pressure, feeling the strength in V’s shoulder and the sharp sweep of his collarbone. V seems to sag a little under the weight, even though it’s barely enough to make a difference, his shoulders dropping. As it does, Roman moves slowly, trailing his fingers lightly across the exposed skin of V’s neck. V shivers again, harder this time, as Roman’s nails drag across.

“Does that feel good, little honeybee?”

He’s rewarded with a dazed hum.

“Good.”

Roman draws idle patterns on V’s skin, keeping an eye on his breathing. Luckily, aside from a few hitches here and there when Roman hits a particularly sensitive spot, his breathing seems nice and slow, relaxed, as V sinks into the feeling of Roman’s hand on his skin. He lets his fingers wander, one trailing up to curl around V’s ear—he gets a much larger shudder for that—and another sweeping lightly along his jawline to trace over his cheek.

“Let me see,” Roman murmurs mostly to himself, “now, where were you sensitive, little honeybee? Was it…here?”

He makes a soft circle near the outer corner of V’s left eye. Sure enough, V’s lips part with a small gasp.

“It _was…_ what about over here?”

He trails a lazy path up over V’s cheeks to his forehead, lightly grazing the skin near his hairline. He smiles when V mumbles again, his head slowly swaying back and forth with Roman’s touches.

“Can you do something for me, little honeybee?” When V mumbles an affirmative, he lightly taps a finger in the center of V’s forehead. “Good. Good, little honeybee, here’s what we’re going to do.”

As he drums two fingers gently near V’s hairline, he explains. “I’m going to draw a line down your face, over your forehead, over your nose, all the way down to your chin. As I do, little honeybee, I want you to raise your head. Can you do that for me? Lift that pretty little chin for me?”

V nods.

“ _Good…_ alright, ready? Here we go…”

Roman trails his fingers slowly down V’s face, over the curve of his forehead, over the slope of his nose, over his slightly parted lips, right down to tenderly cup his chin. He smiles at V’s little noise of contentment.

“Good job, little honeybee, you did very well.” He tilts his head lightly to the side when he notices just how _heavy_ V’s head feels, eyes widening a little when he sees V wobble.

“Is that all it takes,” he whispers, “just…a few soft touches…a few gentle words to make you weak at the knees?”

If V hears him, he gives no indication. Roman strokes V’s chin, once, twice, three times. Then he holds him steady.

“Open your eyes for me,” he instructs softly.

V’s eyes blink open, shining a soft purple in the light of the forest. It’s funny…Roman’s never noticed that there’s a tiny bit of grey in his left eye. Well, he notices now.

“Lovely,” he says quietly, smiling a little wider when V doesn’t flush, doesn’t whine, doesn’t pull away, just blinks lazily, “I think that’s enough for right now.”

Now V _does_ whine, soft and high, making him chuckle.

“Oh, I know, little honeybee, I could spoil you _rotten_ with touch right now, but that last thing we should do is overwhelm you.” Roman squeezes his chin lightly. “Baby steps, hmm?”

V hums, nodding against Roman’s hand.

“You’re doing so well,” he praises, “you’ve done _so_ well since you came here…especially with the others, I’m so proud.”

“Y-you are?”

“Of _course_ I am, little honeybee. And I’m sure the others would tell you the same.” He taps V’s nose gently. “We’re all figuring this out together, alright? We’ll get there.”

“What now?”

And _oh, V, you shouldn’t do that_ …look up at him with those eyes, with that voice, so _trusting…_ what Roman’s done to earn that trust he’s not sure, and he worries, truly, about what would happen if someone else with a soft hand and a gentle voice managed to gain that trust for the worse.

No.

No, Roman won’t push this.

Not like this.

“We go slow,” he says firmly, “we ask the others to help. We get you more used to this, to touch and to praise, and we don’t rush it. When you feel uncomfortable and you don’t want something, you say so and we learn.”

V mumbles something.

“A little louder, please?”

“…not like this with the others.”

Roman tilts his head. “What do you mean, little honeybee, what’s not like what with the others?”

“This,” V says, gesturing between them, “the whole…touch thing…they don’t—it doesn’t—you’re—“

He groans in frustration, shutting his eyes, and taking a deep breath.

“Take all the time you need,” Roman soothes, “I’m not going anywhere.”

V’s brows furrow. “It’s like—with them it’s just—it’s just _it_ but with you it’s—it’s—why is this _hard?”_

Roman chuckles. “Words are hard, little honeybee, they always have been. They’re tricky little things, aren’t they?”

“They _are_ and I _don’t like them._ ”

“They never quite mean what you want them to mean, do they?”

“There’s so many of them and _none_ of them are the right ones and it’s not _fair.”_

“Just sort through them, one by one, find the ones that will do the job well enough.”

“But it’s so _stupid._ ”

“I know, believe me, I know.”

“You—you’re…you’re _warm,_ ” V manages finally, “n-none of the others are _warm,_ not really, except for…for the Duke. And he’s not the same type of warm that you are.”

“I see,” Roman says, “well, I think I can offer some explanation as to why that is. Are you…with me, is it…more intense?”

V nods. “Feels…feels _really_ weird.”

Roman lifts his hand away warily. “Bad weird?”

“Just weird.”

“Okay,” Roman murmurs, smiling and cupping his chin again as he whines softly, “has my brother explained exactly what…we are?”

“As in…as in fae or…?”

“Our roles, specifically.” V shakes his head. “Has anyone really explained theirs to you?”

“Pat did…L did, kind of…and, uh, um…”

Roman blinks. “The snake?”

V nods.

The _snake_ explained—

_Nope, trying to figure out his motivation is a dead end. We’ve discussed this._

“The Duke and I are Memory,” Roman explains, “at least that’s the closest translation into mortal tongues that there is.”

“Words are stupid.”

“Words are stupid,” Roman agrees, “but we have to work with them right now, hmm?”

V nods.

“We’re…two different sides of Memory. The Duke deals with the…dark parts.” He holds V steady as he shudders. “Yes…I know, sweetheart, it’s not very pleasant.”

“I like him though.”

“I’m sure he’d be very pleased to hear you say that,” Roman laughs, “he like you too. The Duke _isn’t_ bad Memory, he isn’t any of those bad things, they’re just…a little closer to _his_ version of reality, does that make sense?”

“Yeah…he explained to me how his room works and that I, uh…might not wanna go there.”

“Co _rrect,_ ” Roman mutters, “I would…not advise it. Stick to the lake, perhaps, and Oliver.”

“…I like Oliver too.”

“I’m _sure_ I don’t need to tell you he likes you back.”

Roman chuckles at V’s happy little smile.

“I am more closely tied to the memories that make you happy,” he says instead, smiling as V’s eyes flick back to his. “The lighter ones…the ones that make you giggle on a bright summer day, or keep you warm in a chilly night.”

His chest begins to ache when V’s smile slides off, morphing into a look of confusion and soft resignation.

“I…I don’t…do I have those?”

“I don’t know,” Roman whispers, unable to keep the despair out of his voice, “I truly don’t know the answer to that, V. And I don’t think anyone will except _you._ ”

V’s expression shifts again. “What—what if I don’t—“

“Shh,” Roman soothes quickly when V starts to panic, bringing up his other hand to lightly stroke his cheek, “shh, little honeybee, it’s alright, calm down. It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“But if I don’t have—if I don’t have happy memories, isn’t there…doesn’t that mean there’s something wrong with me?”

“No, absolutely not, sweetheart, that…” Roman trails off, tilting his head. “Who told you that?”

“W-what?”

“Who told you that,” he repeats, “that if you didn’t have happy memories there was something wrong with you?”

V fidgets a little, averting his gaze. “…isn’t it just, like…a given thing?”

“No, V,” Roman says softly, “it’s not. Not having happy memories doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you.”

V still doesn’t look convinced.

“If I were able to show you that you _do,_ in fact, have memories that can make you happy,” Roman says, switching tactics, “would you believe me that there’s nothing for you to worry about?”

“…sure.”

Roman holds V’s chin steady, gently encouraging him to make eye contact. “Do you remember when you decided to stay with us?”

V nods, the furrowing of his brows lessening slightly.

“Do you remember meeting Oliver?”

He nods again.

“Do you remember the first time Oliver threw you across the lake?”

Another nod.

“Do you remember helping Pat bake for the first time?”

Nod.

“What about looking at the stars with L?”

Nod.

Roman pauses, then he leans in closer and presses his forehead gently to V’s.

“Do you remember,” he whispers, “choosing to call us your family?”

He feels V nod again, pulling away to see a small, nervous smile blooming on his face. He can’t help running his thumb gently over V’s cheek.

“Look at you,” he whispers, “such a wonderful smile.”

Before V has a chance to overthink it, Roman gives his chin a gentle squeeze.

“See, sweetheart? You _do_ have memories that make you happy, even if it’s only a few recent ones.”

“…but…why does that—why am I—you—“ V takes a deep breath— “why does that make you so _warm?_ ”

Roman’s smile saddens. “When you have only ever been treated roughly,” he murmurs, still stroking V’s cheek lightly, “when you have been taught to only expect pain…any softness, any pleasure will feel like the first rainfall in a thousand-year drought.”

“…oh.”

“Pat or L might be able to explain it a little more in detail,” Roman says, “perhaps due to how mortal bodies deal with touch or how emotions react based on comfort, but…that’s what it is, V. I…I’m tied to a part of reality that you don’t have a lot of experience with and you…you’re trying to reach out for it.”

“Is, uh…” V licks his lips nervously. “…is that okay?”

“Yes, sweetheart,” Roman says softly, “that’s more than okay.”

V closes his eyes, leaning into Roman’s touch, shyly pushing a little firmer into his hands. Roman pushes back, rubbing his fingers firmly under V’s chin, along his cheek.

“…so do I just have to…do this?”

Roman smiles. “Not quite. This’ll be a part of it, of course, and I’m more than happy to do _this,_ just this, a little as often as you like, but you should try and get used to everyone touching you a little more too, not just me.”

“And what about…the other part?”

“The compliments, little honeybee?” V nods. Roman smiles. “Well, unfortunately, the best way for you to get used to _those_ is to hear them. Often.”

V winces. “You sure there isn’t an easier way?”

“I’m afraid not, little honeybee.”

“…great.”

“Don’t be like that,” Roman chides lightly, “you’ll enjoy it. You have my word.”

“Sure.”

Roman laughs, properly this time, lightly swiping his finger along a particularly sensitive patch of skin beneath V’s mouth. “I’ll be gentle, sweetheart.”

He softens when V begins to look unsure again, cupping his face and shushing him gently at the soft noise.

“Thank you,” V whispers, “for—for everything.”

“Of course, little honeybee,” Roman says instantly, lightly stroking his cheeks again, “always.”

“I…I don’t know how good I’m going to be at this.”

“That’s perfectly alright if it takes you a little bit,” Roman says, “we’ve got time. And the last thing we want to do is rush this type of thing. We’ll take it slow, yes?”

V nods.

“Tell you what,” Roman continues, “the next time you feel very cold, or very upset, or if you need someone, if you like, you can come to me and I’ll look after you, alright?”

“Y-you would?”

“That offer has been open since you arrived,” Roman assures, “and it is my fault if I have not made that clear to you. But yes, V, if ever you need or want someone to look after you, you can always come right to me.”

He gets to hold V for a little longer before they break apart, V thanking him once again and going back toward the clearing. A few fawns follow him, still purple. Purple looks good on them both, Roman decides as he keeps on his own walk through the forest.

Oh, V…

He makes a vow to himself that he will do this _right._

He gets his chance a little sooner than he’d have liked.

They’d been making progress, they had. It had been slow, yes, but it had been progress. Roman had asked every time if it was alright if he touched V, and had been very careful to be gentle, not push too hard, only use one hand most of the time. Once, on an evening by the lake, as Remus worked with Oliver underwater, V had let Roman tangle a hand in his hair and rest V’s head on his shoulder. He hadn’t fallen asleep but his eyes had drifted closed.

Then he gets a frantic message from his brother.

_V’s upset. It’s bad. Got him calm but he’s super wound up. Coming to you._

Roman curses under his breath, sinking into his room and quickly making up a large pile of soft cushions and blankets on the ground. He moves his desk into the corner—as few sharp edges as possible—and waits. A few seconds later and there’s a timid knock on his door.

He opens it slowly and can’t stop the instinctive coo that comes out at seeing V’s face all red and swollen, a few more scrapes adorning his features, and a little dirt-smudged into the corners. Behind him hovers Remus, tentacles and all.

“Hello, little honeybee,” Roman says gently, “may I look after you?”

V nods. Roman glances up at Remus and gives him a nod. “I’ll take care of him.”

“You’d better,” his brother grumbles as the door closes.

“S-sorry,” V mumbles as Roman guides him to sit on the floor, “s-sorry.”

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry for,” Roman says, “and no need to apologize.”

V looks so _scared,_ the poor thing, so unsure…it’s almost like they’re in the garden again. Roman’s going to do it right this time.

“Little honeybee,” he murmurs, crouched in front of V, “may I clean your face off, please?”

He gets a little nod and breathes out slowly.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He stands. “You just keep breathing for me, alright, little honeybee?”

He moves quickly to the side room, fetching a small bowl of water and a few towels and returning, unfastening his cloak as he goes. He sets everything down and waves a hand, turning his normal clothes into easy things that won’t get in the way and will be soft to the touch. He leans forward.

“V? V, sweetheart?” He waits until V’s gaze flicks to his. “May I touch you, little honeybee?”

V nods, his eyes drifting away.

“Alright,” Roman says softly, “would you like me to tell you what I’m going to do before I do it, just so you’re not taken by surprise?”

Another nod. He’s crashing.

“You’ve got an awful lot of scratches on your face,” Roman says softly, “and some dirt too. I have a few soft cloths here…and some water. I’d like to do my best to get the dirt off you first, is that alright?”

When V nods again, he takes a corner of the cloth and dips it in the water, squeezing out the excess. Then he reaches up slowly to cup the back of V’s neck, scratching soothingly at the little hairs at the very base of his head as he brings up the cloth. He takes the easily-cleaned places first, brushing more than cleaning off the patches where just a little stuck to the skin, barely giving a thought to where it might be going. Under his gentle care, V’s eyes start to lose their manic gleam.

In a few places, the dirt sticks more stubbornly and he rewets the cloth, tilting V’s head gently to the side and rubbing a little more persistently at the stain. V winces.

“Am I hurting you?” V shakes his head. “Will you tell me if I do?”

Nothing.

Cursing a little under his breath, Roman lifts his hands away. “I need you to tell me, V, will you let me know if I hurt you?”

“…I’ll tell you.”

“Good,” he says, his own shoulders slumping, resettling his hand at the back of V’s head, “good, V. I’m almost finished with getting the dirt off you.”

He changes tactics slightly, choosing to dab at the dirt to get it to stick to the cloth as opposed to simply scrubbing away. When the last of the dirt is gone, he sets the cloth aside and reaches for another one.

“Alright…I’d like to clean the rest of your face now,” he says softly, “just a little. It will feel nice, you have my word. Here…”

He reaches up and gently brushes a little of the cloth across V’s jaw.

“Doesn’t that feel nice?”

V nods, subconsciously turning his head to follow the movement.

“Okay. I’m just going to clean your face off a little and then I’ll tend to those scratches.”

He wets the cloth carefully, just enough to make it damp, squeezing out any drops into the bowl. When he’s gotten it the way he wants it, he drapes it over one hand and steadies V’s face with the other.

“Close your eyes,” he prompts softly, raising the towel to gently begin to clean off his face. He goes slowly, stroking along the swerves and contours of V’s face, over his forehead, the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, his chin. As he works, he feels V’s hands nervously twist into the front of his tunic.

“I’m right here, little honeybee _,_ I’m not going anywhere,” he soothes as he sets the cloth aside. “Can I tell you what I’d like to do next?”

V nods.

“I think you’re a little dehydrated, little honeybee, so I’d like to get you something to drink. Is that alright?” V nods and he stands, pulling away from him to take the jug on the table and pour it into a glass. He sits back down to give V the drink. He drinks slowly—his breathing still hasn’t fully returned to normal—and when he finishes he looks about for somewhere to put the glass.

“Here,” Roman murmurs, taking it out of V’s hand and setting it on the floor. “Would you like me to keep going?”

It’s a little odd to keep asking, at least it _feels_ unusual, but Roman doesn’t care. It’s _V,_ and he’s going to take care of him. And that means he needs to be okay with everything that happens.

V nods and closes his eyes, letting his chin drop to his chest.

“I need to have a look at those scratches,” Roman reminds gently, “but I’m happy to hold your head so you may rest. It’s been quite a day for you, hasn’t it?”

He holds his hand out, palm up, heart pounding when V lifts his own head and settles it in Roman’s palm without barely a moment of hesitation. The amount of trust in his lazily blinking eyes, his slumped posture, and the weight of his head is enough to make Roman’s head spin.

“Just there…just like that…you’re perfect, you’re perfect, you’re doing so well for me…”

The scratches are barely substantial. No blood. Nothing to be overly worried about. As he looks, he sees a few of them have already scabbed over completely, likely to be fully healed within the week.

“Good, good, that’s perfect, good job…good…job…good job, little honeybee.”

There is _one_ more thing Roman would like to try. He glances around and spots one of his softest, fluffiest brushes.

“Can you wait one second for me, little honeybee? Just one second, I won’t be long, I’ve just got to grab one thing.”

V makes a little noise. Roman slowly lets go of his chin, standing and retrieving the brush. He sits back down, holding up the brush so V can see.

“This,” he says softly, “is my favorite brush. It’s nice and fluffy and soft and it won’t hurt you, not a bit.”

He watches V stare at the brush, his brows furrowing.

“Do you know what it’s for?” When V shakes his head, Roman taps the brush against his palm. “You can use brushes like these for a lot of things. Wealthy mortals can use them for cosmetics, you _can_ use them to paint, even though I don’t recommend it, but I use them to help me clean.”

At the word ‘clean,’ V’s brows quirk again.

“Pat helped me make it,” Roman explains, running the brush along his own face, “just…to help a little. You remember what he can do, right? Just dust you off a bit?”

V nods, his gaze softening.

“It feels nice,” Roman promises, “helps me think a little clearer, or get my mind off anything I don’t want to think about.”

He smiles when V makes a soft noise. “Can I show you?” He holds out his hand. “Just on your hand first, how about that? Then you can decide if you’d like to try it on your face or not.”

Smile growing when V places his hand nervously in Roman’s, Roman turns V’s hand palm up and gently swirls the brush around his palm, up and down his fingers, all over his hand. V’s fingers twitch and he makes another noise.

“Does it feel good, little honeybee?” V nods. “May I brush your face?”

V nods. Roman lets his hand go and makes to cup V’s head again when two hands grab his free hand tightly. His eyes widen, looking down to see V clutching his hand so tightly his knuckles turn white.

“Oh, V…here…”

He gently frees his hand and sets the brush aside for a moment, using both hands to help V cup one of Roman’s in both of his. He coaxes V to lace his fingers through his, giving them a reassuring squeeze when V’s settled properly.

“Good?” V nods. “Alright. Can I…?”

“Mhm.”

Roman picks up the brush. “Now,” he murmurs, “because I can’t hold your head still, I’m going to need _you_ to hold still for me. Can you do that, little honeybee, will you hold still? I know you will, you always do so well for me…”

Sure enough, when Roman begins to gently sweep the brush up his cheek, V’s eyes drift shut but he holds still, perfectly lovely as Roman continues to move the brush in slow sweeps across his face.

“Good… _good_ job, sweetheart, you’re doing so well…so well…you just hold still for me…just like that.” The brush sweeps down his nose. “Just a little bit to clean off, not a lot, not a lot…not a lot.”

The brush moves to swirl around his temples.

“Just over here, a bit, a bit, a bit…then over here, like that, like that, like that…”

The soothing motions of the brush and Roman’s murmured repetitions seem to do the trick. V’s grip slowly begins to slacken, his breathing begins to steady, the worry in his body beginning to dissipate. Roman keeps it up, gently brushing V’s face, over his closed eyes, his cheeks, around his mouth, sweeping under his chin, whispering all the while. As it goes, and V relaxes more and more, his throat loosens. Pleased little hums and sighs tug at the corners of Roman’s mouth as he works, the sweet tickle of the brush coaxing a pleasurable shiver out of V when it hits a particularly sensitive spot. Then…then when Roman sweeps it under his chin once more, V lifts his head, leaning back enough to encourage Roman to swirl it around and around.

“…there, little honeybee? Right here?” V’s sleepy little hum is enough of an answer. “Right here it is, then…right there.”

Roman watches V’s expression intently now, the hand in his lap stilling completely. When there are no more little twitches and V’s head bobbles back down, Roman eases the brush to a stop and pulls away, trying to keep his heart from pounding too loudly.

He’s so close. So close.

“Little honeybee,” he whispers in that same soft voice, “may I tell you what I’d like to do next?”

V nods sluggishly. Roman takes a deep breath.

Moving slowly and making sure to talk as he goes, Roman kneels up and presses his forehead to V’s. “I want to hold you in my arms and take care of you until all of that pain falls asleep in my chest. I want to make sure nothing ever hurts you like this again, but I know I can’t do that. One, because it’s terribly rude; you are perfectly capable of taking care of yourself. Two, because I know that sometimes one’s worst enemy is inside one’s own mind. So instead, I’d like to help you when you _are_ hurt like this.”

He’s close to his face now; he can feel the small puffs of V’s breath on his collar. He lowers his voice to an even more hushed whisper.

“I want to take your face in my hands,” he murmurs, “and hold you so you needn’t worry about anything. I want to run my hands through your hair and wipe away your tears from your cheeks. I want to run my hands over your back and your arms and your sides to remind you that I’m here, that I won’t let anything hurt you right now.”

He stops, his breath catching in his throat.

“Is that something you want, little honeybee?”

“… _please._ ”

Oh, oh, V…

“Give me just one moment, then,” Roman breathes, “and I will be right back.”

He hurries to get the water put away, to get the towels and the brush and the glass out of the way and he’s back at V’s side. The brief break has made V open his eyes, staring after Roman, but he isn’t worried, isn’t stressed. Just…just calm. When Roman returns he’s about to crouch down and pull V up but the sight freezes him.

His little face…his little face is still so blotchy, his nose still a bright red, and his eyes so swollen.

He tries. He gives Roman this tiny little smile but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. And when it slides off he looks so very alone.

“Oh, my little honeybee,” he murmurs, opening his arms wide, “you poor thing…let me be gentle with you, won’t you? Won’t you let me spoil you, just a little?”

V reaches out slowly, stumbling a little as he reaches for the cradle of Roman’s arms. Roman lets him wrap his arms clumsily around his neck, only to realize they’ve overbalanced themselves.

“Can I carry you, little honeybee,” he croons softly, “just to make this a little easier?”

“Mhm.”

Scooping V into his arms gives him nary a pause, lifting him effortlessly as he maneuvers them to the center of the cushions. He lays down on his back, propping himself up slightly on one of the larger pillows and draping V’s arm onto his shoulder as he tries to wrap his arms around Roman as best he can. It’s a bit of a struggle, neither of them is quite sure what V’s limbs are doing but eventually they end up with one of V’s arms hooked over Roman’s shoulder, the other curving up his back, V’s head buried in Roman’s neck. Tangling their legs together, he squeezes V tightly, trying to ground him, replace the numbness with firm, solid pressure.

“I have you, sweetheart, I’m right here,” he whispers as they rock slowly back and forth, “I have you.”

V’s more laying on him than clinging onto him, his nose cold against Roman’s neck. He turns his head slightly and his cheek presses against Roman’s shoulder, automatically drawing forth a comforting noise from his throat at the evidence of tears. V’s tunic drapes slowly across his back, dragged down over his shoulder onto the cushion, creating a path Roman follows softly with his fingers. He traces the curve of V’s shoulder blades, feeling the flex of his muscles as his arms try in vain to tighten their grip on Roman. Flattening the palm of his hand to the center of his back pushes their heartbeats together; his strong, steady rhythm trying to soothe V’s, still flighty, exhausted. He draws a breath, slow, quiet, silently encouraging V to do the same, centering his awareness on the body lying against his.

_He’s set off every protective instinct you’ve ever had. Hold him. Take care of him. He’s yours and you’ll fight anyone to keep him safe. You know you’d burn the entire world if it meant he’d be safe. But right now, he’s here, curled up in your arms, and he’s yours. At least for a little while._

He loses track of how long they lie there, in the pile of cushions, as V’s body steadily grows warmer, warmer, _warmer_. He savors the feeling of having V trust him with this, memorizing the weight of V’s head on his shoulder.

When he finally goes completely still, Roman turns them slightly, moving V to lie more fully on top of him so he doesn’t have to worry about sliding off. The movement does little to rouse V from his exhaustion, drawing a slight mumble.

“Are you comfortable, little honeybee?” He feels him nod. “I’m glad.”

A loud _thwump_ comes from the corner of the room and V whines.

“Shh, you’re safe,” he soothes, “I won’t let you go. No no—it’s alright, come here, it’s just one of the pillows that fell over.”

V listens, relaxing into his arms again.

“Good,” he sighs in relief, “good.”

He cuddles him tighter, rocking them back and forth a little faster. “I’m so proud of you, my little honeybee, you did so well today.”

“Mmm.” V hooks his chin over his shoulder. “Smell good.”

“What was that?”

He shifts so his mouth is closer to his ear. “You smell good.”

“Thank you,” he chuckles, “are you warm enough?”

“Mm. Comfy. You’re soft.”

“And _you_ are very endearing when you’re half-asleep.”

“Words machine broken.”

“Your…words machine is broken? Does that mean you can’t talk right now?”

“Mm.”

“That’s alright, sweetheart, you needn’t talk. Just let me know when you’d like to move, tap me or something.”

“Mm.”

He starts to run his hands over V’s body, slowly, carefully, nothing that will disturb him. Through his hair, across the little sections of his cheek he can reach, down his sides, scratching lightly between his shoulder blades, rubbing the back of his neck. As his hands move he starts offering little bits of praise. How good V’s been, how well he’s been doing, how strong he is for all of this. How lovely he is, how _pretty._ V whines, although he doesn’t protest or object to any of it. It probably doesn’t register as a direct correlation but Roman rewards that by pulling him closer, lingering in the spots he seems to like.

They curl around each other for a bit longer, until Roman’s throat grows dry. He’d grab a drink to keep talking but then he’d have to move and V would have to move and — no. He mulls his options over when he realizes there’s one last thing he’d like to do.

“Little honeybee,” he murmurs into V’s ear, hands stilling, “may I kiss you, please?”

And _oh,_ V must be very, _very_ relaxed because he nods against his neck.

Roman’s heart stutters in his chest. He hasn’t felt this nervous since…he doesn’t even know when. He can hear J’s voice in his head, mocking his hesitance. _It’s just a little kiss, my dear prince. And it’s not even on his mouth, though not for lack of trying on your part. You’re the first one to kiss him, or don’t you remember? You seemed terribly eager about it before._

But it’s not just a little kiss because it’s not just anyone and it doesn’t matter that he’s done it before because it _doesn’t matter._

With that in mind, he presses his mouth tenderly to V’s forehead. His skin is warm and a little sweaty, but it’s alive and it’s V. He sighs lightly and relaxes into Roman. He moves to V’s cheek, then his nose, all over his little blushing face, pressing little pecks to his skin. Roman places V’s hand on the side of his ribcage so he can move his own hand to tip V’s chin upwards. He moves his mouth to V’s neck, pressing his lips to the pulse point to feel it thump there, softly. He stops there. V’s relaxed a bit more now, so he’s not ready to flee at a moment’s notice. Best not to give him a reason to leave now.

He starts to move a little bit, wriggling until he’s got his arms around Roman properly, winding their legs together. Roman helps him shift until he’s atop his chest, mouth against his ear.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, “thank you.”

“Of course, little honeybee _,”_ he says, drawing meaningless patterns on V’s back, “always.”

Then his eyes widen when he feels his fingertips start to tingle. Before his magic can come out fully, he pulls his hands away, pressing his head to V’s as consolation. But it’s too late, V notices.

“…why’d you stop? I, um…” He shifts a little. “…I liked it.”

“I’m glad, little honeybee,” Roman manages, smiling, “but…I—“

“What…what’s that?”

Ah. V must’ve turned his head. Sure enough, when Roman looks at his hands, from his fingers curl red sparkles. He laughs softly to himself, then gently knocks his head against V’s.

“It’s my magic.”

“Y-your magic?”

“Yes. It’s…well. It’s me.”

“Why is it…what are you doing with it?”

Roman sighs. “I’m not using it on purpose right now, it’s just kind of…coming out.”

V blinks at him with those purple eyes. “What do you mean?”

Roman smiles ruefully, resting his forehead against V’s. “I am undone by you, little honeybee,” he confesses softly, “and here you are, in my arms, where you’re letting me take care of you, make you feel safe…and my magic wants to help.”

“…so why’d you stop?”

“Because using magic on you without your knowledge would be _awful._ It would be…it would be trying to override your will or convince you that you want something when you do not.” Roman hesitates. “Especially because you are… _already_ you are more susceptible to my influence than the others it would—you would be—“

Roman sighs in frustration.

“…words suck,” V mumbles.

“They _do indeed.”_

“…you can uh, you got time.”

The corner of Roman’s mouth quirks up. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

V hums, nuzzling into his neck. Roman closes his eyes and leans his head back, thinking.

_“I’m what?”_

_Logan sighs, adjusting his glasses. “Please, there is no need to raise your voice.”_

_“You’ve just told me I’m brainwashing V,” Romans fumes, “I’m going to be upset.”_

_“You’re not brainwashing him, Prince. I’m saying that due to V’s…upbringing, he does not have a lot of experience with the feelings of contentment or pleasure.”_

_Roman stops pacing around Logan’s room, staring at the other and crossing his arms. “And?”_

_“And,” Logan says, “that means that because you and your magic is directly tied to those things in mortals, you have more influence over V’s current mood and state of mind than the rest of us might.”_

_“Which means I can easily override his will.”_

_“…it would more like coercion; you’re simply stimulating the septal area of the frontal lobe directly as opposed to through the body’s natural pleasure centers.”_

_“Please, in simple terms.”_

_“You have an influence over his prefrontal cortex more directly than—“_

_“I said simple!”_

_Logan sighs. “Instead of his brain coming to the conclusion that any experience in pleasure through the pathways of—“_

_“Simple, Logan.”_

_“…your magic is reaching directly into his mind and switching on the part that says something feels good.”_

_“Which means I’m overriding—“_

_“Overriding some of his natural impulses, yes.”_

_“Which means he could become—“ Roman struggles to find a word that doesn’t make his tongue want to rip itself out of his mouth— “it could—he would—I would be—“_

_“…it could trigger an alteration in brain chemistry, yes.”_

_Roman tangles his hands in his hair. “What have I done?”_

_“You haven’t done anything,” Logan soothes, reaching out to delicately lay a hand on his shoulder, “at least not intentionally and certainly not harmfully.”_

_“I used my magic on him in the garden, L,” Roman whispers, “I…I hurt him.”_

_“V is not hurt, Prince.”_

_“I—“_

_“You have not used magic on him in a serious context, have you?”_

_“I tried to Charm him, Logan.”_

_“And here I thought you’d never admit you used magic to do that,” comes the wry comment from above him. When Roman glares up, Logan raises his hands in surrender. “Have you used magic on V since his arrival?”_

_Roman thinks. “…no?”_

_“Knowing what you do now, would you?”_

_He shakes his head furiously and Logan’s voice softens, getting a little closer._

_“Then you need not be so upset. You care about V, you care about caring for him properly. If you remember that and you tell him everything you can, you will not hurt him.”_

_Roman can’t help the small grin that spreads over his face. “If I didn’t know any better, Specs, I’d say you were protective of him.”_

_“I’m sure I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” Logan says, slightly flushed as he steps back and adjusts his glasses._

“That is what I mean,” Roman says as he finishes his explanation, “about it being a…violation. And I would _never_ do that to you.”

“O-oh.” V takes a moment. “…would it hurt?”

“No,” Roman says quickly, “no, sweetheart, I would never hurt you. It…it would feel pleasurable, in fact. _Very_ much so.”

“It would?”

“Yeah, sweetheart.” Roman lets the corner of his mouth quirk up. “I would make it good for you.”

“…can we try?”

Roman’s breath catches in his throat and he nudges V. “Sit up for me, little honeybee.”

V sits up as Roman takes a deep breath, sitting up too.

“I need you to understand what you’re asking for, V,” he says firmly, “my magic isn’t going to hurt you, I’m not going to let it, but it _is_ going to go into your mind.”

He holds up his hand, letting a few of the sparkles loose.

“I can’t explain exactly how it works—you’ll need to ask L about that—but it _does_ involve…messing with your senses, at least a little bit. And that means…” Roman takes another deep breath. “That means it might be hard to tell the difference between what _you_ want and what _it_ wants you to want.”

V considers him seriously, his brows furrowed as he nods. Roman half expects him to shake his head, even ask to leave, but instead…

“I trust you.”

Roman’s breath leaves him in a rush and he can’t help but smile.

“Oh, little honeybee,” he whispers, “what _have_ you done to me?”

“…is that a no?”

“I doubt I could _ever_ truly say no to you.” Roman shakes his head slowly. “Alright. We can try. But I need you to promise me something, V.”

When V nods, Roman fixes him with a look. “I _will_ be paying very close attention to you, and I _will_ be using barely any magic at all, but the _instant_ it becomes too much or there’s something you don’t like, or you feel like you’re out of control, you _must_ tell me, yes?”

“Yes. I promise.”

Roman takes a deep, slow breath and lets it out. “Okay.”

“…okay?”

Roman smiles, lifting his hand and letting his magic curl out of his fingers as he beckons V closer. “Come here, little honeybee.”

V crawls into his lap, draping his arms over his shoulders again as Roman pulls him close. He starts small, trailing one finger down the space between V’s shoulder blades, a soft red trail of his magic in its wake. V’s breath leaves him in a soft rush.

“Does that feel good, little honeybee?”

“… _wow…”_

Roman chuckles, leaving another red trail across his upper back before starting to leave longer trails down the length of his spine. His mouth widens in a smug grin when V starts to press into him, trying to get closer, hugging him tightly.

“Do you want me to keep going,” he asks softly, lifting his hand away to let V make the decision entirely on his own, “just a little more?”

“Please?”

“Okay, sweetheart, just a little more.”

He runs lazy doodles across V’s clothed back, the sparkles trailing fine lines as his fingers scritch and caress their way along the fabric. V’s breath starts coming a little faster and he shushes him lightly, slowing down a little so as not to overwhelm the poor thing.

“You’ve had a lot today,” he observes quietly, “and I think it’s just about time for you to have a rest, hmm?”

He chuckles when V makes a soft whine of protest.

“None of that, little honeybee, you’ve done so well today…how about this, hmm? I will give you one more, _just_ one more, and then we will see if we can get you to sleep, yes?”

“O-okay.”

“Good,” he whispers, smile widening when V shifts in his lap, “just one more…”

He slips his hand down, down, down, until he reaches the edge of the rucked-up part of V’s tunic and moves under to the small of his back, one finger trailing red magic to trace the bare skin, right where he’s sensitive.

V _gasps,_ arching his back against Roman’s other arm holding him close.

Roman chuckles and continues drawing little circles, red sparks glowing and fizzling in the warm light of his room, almost relentlessly as V makes those little noises. He can feel goosebumps raising under his touch and he eagerly delights in each and every little sound he can coax out of his little honeybee.

One circle...

Two...

Three.

“Alright,” he sighs, pulling his hand back and rubbing firmly up and down V’s back, his magic retreating and buzzing contentedly, its need satisfied, “that’s enough.”

“Mm.” V turns his head and nuzzles into Roman’s neck, feeling remarkably similar to the fawn.

“Shall we take you back to your room to sleep, little honeybee?”

In response, V shifts a little and squeezes Roman tighter.

“Do you want me to carry you?”

V nods his head, curling up softly in Roman’s lap.

“And…up we go.”

Roman makes his way to the door, opening it with a crook of his finger and carrying V to the door of his own room.

“V, do you want me to leave you here or…?”

V mumbles, shifting his grip. “Bed?”

“Are you alright with me coming inside, then?” V nods. “…alright.”

He lays him down carefully, so carefully, drawing the covers over the little thing, one last kiss on his forehead.

“Sleep well, little honeybee.”

The next morning, by the lake, V sits down without hesitation and leans his head on Roman’s shoulder, his eyes falling shut.

“Holy shit,” Remus mutters from atop Oliver’s head, “he’s—we’ve—holy shit.”

“We’re getting there,” Roman whispers, smiling breathlessly, “we’re getting there.”

They move a little faster after that. V will start going to them just to _be,_ just to sit, to touch and be touched. Patton is thrilled, of course, spoiling V rotten with pats, side hugs, squeezes, and of course, comforting cuddles when he needs them. Logan is subtler, then again he always has been, pressing himself against V’s side as they work or holding his hand as they swing together. Remus, of course, never passes up an opportunity to cuddle V like he’s a teddy bear. And the snake…well, there was a reason he had all his arms wrapped around V when Roman first walked into the garden.

Roman is very, _very_ careful about how he uses his magic. He gives V all the gentle attention he wants, but he doesn’t use his magic often, only when V is upset and all but pleads for it. But that doesn’t mean he can’t pull V into his lap and cuddle him.

His magic isn’t necessarily the _happiest_ about this, but Roman’s in charge.

And then comes the fateful day when V knocks on the door of his room and all but collapses into Roman’s arms.

Instantly, Roman’s on guard, checking for injuries, poison, a spell gone wrong, _talk to me, sweetheart, what’s wrong, little honeybee?_

V simply mumbles and plants his head on Roman’s shoulder. “Tired.”

“You’re…you’re tired?”

“Mm.” V shifts in Roman’s lap where Roman had crouched quickly, still trying to figure out what’s wrong. “Want sleep.”

“O-okay,” Roman mumbles, still hopelessly confused, “what…uh, do you need me to carry you to your bed?”

“Hm-mm.” V nuzzles into Roman’s neck. “ _Sleep._ ”

“Do…do you want to sleep _here?_ ”

“Mhmm.”

“Oh,” Roman sighs, touched by the sentiment, “alright, um…what kind of a bed would you like? I know your own bed is quite…humble, but I can assure you, you may sleep on any type you like.”

V squeezes him tighter. “Sleep here.”

“Yes, little honeybee, you may sleep here, now what would you—“

“ _Here._ ”

Roman freezes. “Do…oh, V, are you…are you asking to…fall asleep on _me_ , little honeybee?”

V pulls back a little bit. “…is that okay?”

“Oh, V, yes, of course, it is, little honeybee, you come here…” Roman scoops him up and sits on his own bed, quickly changing his own clothes so that V can fall asleep easily. “Right here, hmm?”

V hums happily, sleepily burrowing into Roman’s chest. “Soft. Warm. Safe.”

_It should be banned that this little mortal is so endearing when he is half-asleep._

Roman remembers when V would flinch at the slightest touch, would shy away from the barest scrap of affection. And yet here he is, soaking it up like a sponge, nothing but soft hums and pleasured shivers as Roman strokes his head and pulls him close. He can’t help the fond, proud smile that spreads over his face.

_Finally,_ he thinks as V dozes in his arms, _finally…our little mortal…you can see the light at the end of the darkness._

* * *

Days pass.

Light rises in the silent clearing.

Roman walks out of his room, towards the lake. He doesn’t notice that V’s door is wide open.

Remus looks up when he arrives, sunbathing on top of Oliver’s head. He looks over, waving a tentacle.

Patton comes into his kitchen, frowning when he sees the little slot to V’s pantry is still open.

Logan adjusts his glasses as he walks into the kitchen. He greets Patton and offers to help him make breakfast for everyone.

All of them feel a sharp pain in their chest.

“Logan?”

“It’s…not me, no.”

“Re—Re, you gotta—“

“Ro? Ro-Bro, I can’t—is it—“

“Patton? Patton, can you—”

“No, no, I can’t, it’s not—I don’t know where it’s coming from.”

“Wait, where’s—“

“Snakey?”

Silence.

“Snakey, where are you?”

And across the bond comes a terrible wave of fury, echoing out from the portal, from the garden, from the figure with its six hands clenched tightly, staring down at a flower that has been torn and trodden into the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	6. Janus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eons ago, there was a small child that was born with two different colored eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: yeah I know exactly what I'm doing for this chapter
> 
> me, two seconds later: hey, so that was a fuckin' lie

Eons ago, there was a small child that was born with two different colored eyes.

Their mother looked at them with fear every single time, eyes darting from one side of their face to the other, trying to figure out which one was the _right_ one. The problem was they were _both_ right, even if the mother didn’t see it. There were never any other villagers brave enough to look.

The child didn’t understand what was wrong. There were no people willing to explain it, you see, no people willing to tell this child precisely what he had done to deserve the treatment he was given. Scorned. Abused. Neglected. Whispers in the night, in the day, just around the corner. A demon, an omen, a sign of impending doom. The surety that their world would come crashing down around them.

But here is the thing about little children in a village where everyone must hustle and bustle about: it is quite easy to get confused if you don’t look too closely.

The child learned how to hide. How to peer up from one eye with his hair covering the other, how to keep his face turned to one side so that he could not be seen. He learned how to be two people at once, the others never suspecting a thing.

He learned how to lie.

He wasn’t completely successful when he started; no one ever is. But every time he got caught, he fixed it. Every time, he got a little harder to catch. And by the time he was a young adult, it was impossible to tell whether or not he was lying.

Other people, however, never got quite as good at it.

He knew when the tavern owner wasn’t going to the bakery for the new loaves of bread, but for the baker’s wife. He knew when the shopkeeper had found those ‘priceless wood beads’ in the pile of scraps last night. He knew when the old medicine woman wasn’t running low on her herbs because of too many patients, but because the smoke was useful for…other things.

He knew when the villagers started to question where these two new people they hadn’t seen growing up had come from.

No one wins forever.

They tried. They tried with threats, with scolds from a mother that had grown cruel and callous, with pretty young things that tried to coax his tongue looser, with barked orders in the dead of night to get him to _talk._ They tried with soft touches, rough touches, soft words, hard words. They tried with promises, with vows, with lies.

They kept trying the lies.

_We won’t hurt you if you come out._

_We just want to help, this is a kindness._

_You’re not safe, can’t you see we’re trying to help you?_

_There’s something wicked inside you, we have to purge it._

_Stop fighting, it doesn’t hurt that bad._

_You deserve this._

The lies never worked.

But perhaps the truths they believed did.

_You’re evil._

_No one will ever want you._

_Did you actually believe you had family here?_

He knows lies. Lies roll off his tongue before he even has to think of them. Lies are safe. Lies land in just the right spots to dispel anything before him.

Truth is hard. Truth is messy. Truth is a lie.

He doesn’t understand how these people can go through life believing themselves _true._ He can practically taste the lies rolling off of them, his mouth filling with bitterness and disgust as he watches them _pretend._

At least _he_ knows he’s pretending.

The village turned paranoid. Everyone distrusted everyone. There were shoutings in the streets, yanking off people’s hats, and demanding to see their eyes. _The eyes,_ they cried, _the eyes will tell you the truth._

They would find him.

And when they didn’t find him, they found each other.

_It’s that child’s fault,_ they would scream, _before he was here, none of this happened. He poisoned you, he turned you into a creature of evil, he must be stopped._

Funny, it seems, how quickly someone will cry out against another when given the opportunity. And how fire has a way of exposing our priorities.

The child had only existed and had been called evil. And now…now that evil had grown up.

Evil is _such_ a mortal concept.

_There must be something to blame,_ they would say. _There is someone to blame! Find him! Find the demon!_ The cry would go up and the search would begin.

The village was too small to hide in.

They had found their scapegoat. They had found their excuse. They had found their evil.

One child. One child was blamed for the evil of an entire village and the villagers took it upon themselves to seek justice.

He ran.

Where, he didn’t care. He could lie, he could get away, he could become invisible, he could tell his own story.

He stumbled into a garden and for the first time breathed a sigh of relief when a creature that could make everything go away appeared.

The creature had smiled at him, its head tilted to the side.

“Hello, little thing,” it had said, its teeth too sharp and its gaze too piercing, “may I have your name?”

He had known the danger, hadn’t cared, and spat out the word his mother had called him.

The creature had blinked. “That is not your name.”

“It’s the one they gave me.”

“That doesn’t make it _yours,_ little thing.” The creature had paced in a lazy circle around him. “You…you haven’t been cared for, have you? Not much kindness for you.”

At the word ‘kindness,’ he had flinched.

“Oh…oh dear, little thing.” The creature had paused. “That was not your name. It has never been your name. They have not known _you._ ”

At this point, he hadn’t been sure he knew himself.

“I take your name,” the creature had said, “and no one will ever call you it again. They will have no choice but to _listen_ to you, and you will build yourself anew.”

He had blinked, unsure of why this…this _mercy_ was being shown him.

“You look confused,” the creature had murmured, “why?”

“Why are you being nice to me?”

The creature had tilted its head. “Have you given me reason to behave otherwise?”

“What do you want?”

“Several things, little thing,” the creature had smiled, “but first…what has made you so…bitter?”

“Lies,” he had said, “the lies have made me bitter.”

“And why do you lie, little thing?”

“To survive.”

The creature had glanced around at the garden. Then back at him. “Where will you go, little thing?”

He had unconsciously bared his teeth in a snarl. “Somewhere far away from here.”

“Why, little thing?”

“Because I am not wanted here.”

The creature had stepped forward. “And what if I decide _I_ want you?”

He had frowned. No one wanted him. No one had _ever_ wanted him. “I don’t believe you.”

“You can taste lies, can’t you, little thing?” He could. “Am I lying?”

“…no.”

The creature had smiled, its teeth still too sharp. “I want you. You, who lies as easily as breathing. You, who is wary and untrusting and always on guard. You, who shapes reality to suit _you._ ”

“…and why do you want me?”

The creature had waved a hand carelessly over its shoulder. “I have…work. I need a guard dog.”

“You would have me be your slave.”

“Slave?” The creature had laughed. “What a mortal perspective.”

“You would have me—“

“I would have _you,_ ” the creature had interrupted, “and _you_ would have freedom.”

“…freedom?”

“Freedom from those that would see you dead. Freedom from those that could not see you.” The creature holds out a hand. “Freedom from a world that does not understand.”

He had glanced over his shoulder and heard the distant shouts.

He had taken the creature’s hand.

The _work_ had been four more little creatures. One light blue, one dark blue, one green, one red. The creature had showered him in golden light and he had burned.

His arms multiplied.

His tongue grew.

The half of him with the white eye had grown scales.

For the first time in a long time, he had opened _both_ of his eyes and _seen._

The gate was strong. He made it stronger.

The others didn’t know what mortals could do. He taught them.

The others called him the Gatekeeper.

When the first creature had moved on, he was the only one who remembered that he was Reality.

As the only thing the creature had ever asked for, he found his true name.

And no one would ever hurt him again.

* * *

_How did you survive?_

_How did you get away?_

_How long did they make you suffer, how much did they make you bleed, how low did they force you down?_

_Until you stopped running and turned against them?_

_Until your suffering paled in comparison to theirs, until their blood shone on the ground at your feet, until you ground them into dust beneath you?_

_How did you survive…you didn’t, did you?_

No.

* * *

_He’s so small…he looks a little like you, doesn’t he?_

Be quiet. You’re gone.

_So much pain…so much pain from this little one…and so familiar, too?_

No one can hurt me anymore.

_But would you stand by and let him be hurt?_

…mortals feel. That is what they do.

_Not so long ago, you knew that all too well, didn’t you?_

Mortals lie. Mortals scheme. Mortals take.

_So did you, little thing._

Don’t call me that.

_You know he’s hurt, you know you can help him. Would you stand by?_

…it hurts.

_Of course it hurts. It’s pain, little thing. Pain hurts. You can ease it._

Or I could make it worse.

_Very few things will be certain, little thing. But you know better than anyone how it feels to be unwanted._

_…_

_You know what to do, don’t you?_

…yes.

* * *

“You’re not having regrets about taking him in, are you?”

“No. Never.”

“Then…why do you keep avoiding him?”

“Reality can be…messy.”

The problem with having two stories in your head is you start having trouble telling them apart.

* * *

“Um…J?”

“Yes, little mouse?”

“Can I, um…is it okay if I go into the garden?”

“May I ask why?”

“I-I just—I need to—“

“Hush, little mouse, you needn’t fret.”

“I’m, um, I’m helping L today and we need—I want to look at how much space we have.”

“You can go, little mouse, that’s alright, just be back before dark, hmm?”

“Thank you.”

“Of course. Now run along.”

* * *

He should’ve known.

He should’ve _fucking_ known.

Janus’s face curls up into a snarl as he stares at the flower, torn and mangled in the garden. How could he have been so _thoughtless?_

He got careless, that’s how. He got _fucking_ careless.

He hadn’t fucking bothered to go after him. He hadn’t thought to keep _watch._

And now…

His eyes trace up the path out of the garden. Deep lines scored into the dirt. Someone was dragging their heels. No bark ripped off the trees. Not much of a struggle then.

_They knocked him out. Took him by surprise. Had they been waiting?_

“J?”

“ _J!_ ”

“Snakey, what’s—“

“Are you okay?”

The others rush up behind him, frantic, only to see the tracks, see the marks, see the flower. He can practically hear Logan putting everything together.

“Someone,” Janus says in a soft, dangerous voice, “took V.”

Silence.

“Fan out,” Logan says quickly, “start looking.”

Remus lifts himself up into one of the trees and starts swinging. Roman follows. Patton grabs Logan’s hand and they close their eyes, a wave of blue rippling through the trees. Janus watches. A thin line stretches away from the garden, glowing gold against the dark.

“There!”

It hasn’t been long. The trail is still fresh. Janus concentrates, wills the magic to bend, to manifest, to show itself. He can feel the twins racing through the forest, following the magic as it winds its way through the trees. They are angry. Anger makes them deadlier.

“Can you see it?”

_“Over there!”_

“It’s too dark, can we make it any brighter?”

“Hang on, Patton!”

“I’m trying, I’m trying, hold on—“

“There, I’ve got you.”

“Thanks. Can you see—“

“It’s fading, it’s fading, Snakey, you need to—“

“I have him.”

“Where did it go?”

“The bond, follow the bond.”

“Use J’s claim, it’s stronger.”

“Where is it?”

“There!”

“Quick, catch me!”

“Don’t _do_ that, Re, I can’t always catch you.”

“Well, hurry the fuck up then!”

“Can you guys focus?”

“We’ve got it, it’s still not out of the tree line yet.”

“J, can you—“

“He’s still in the forest. I can feel him.”

“Can you feel the others?”

“Not quite. One moment.”

“This way, Roman!”

“I’m coming!”

“Three. At least.”

“Are they all—do they—“

“There are at least three people holding him, yes.”

“ _Fuck._ ”

“How many more?”

“I can’t tell. They’re getting too far away.”

“What do we do?”

“What are _they_ going to do?”

“We have to—holy shit, wait, Roman can you—“

“I see it! Hang on, V, we’re coming.”

Through the bond, Janus can feel Remus’s chaos cool into tempered steel, can feel Roman grow quiet, solemn, enraged. He doesn’t bother to suppress the dark smile at the thought of the twins, landing silently behind the foolish mortals that _dared_ to touch something that wasn’t theirs.

Patton is silent.

Logan’s last thought is _leave them alive._

Janus feels the twins grin.

He feels Roman’s sword take shape in his hand, the weight comforting.

He feels Remus’s mace gripped against his gloves.

He feels the low chuckle ringing in the dark forest.

He feels the dark voice asking those bumbling fools whether they thought they could walk into a fae garden, steal from it, and walk away unscathed.

He feels the rush of satisfaction when one of them must drop to their knees, cowering in the dark.

He feels the power that surges through his veins as Roman wraps them up in a straitjacket of vines.

And as he turns around, as Logan’s face turns grim, as Patton raises his hand and the vines erupt in the middle of the garden, holding their captured prey aloft, he feels the weight of a body being gently lifted into the arms of the twins, still asleep, safe again.

Janus’s smile softens, just for an instant, as the twins start to make their way back, carrying their precious cargo.

Then Logan lifts his hand and they begin.

The instant he unbinds the mouths of the fools, the words from the first one Janus has to fight to not roll his eyes. The idiot starts to waste his breath with some pointless excuse that he hasn’t done anything wrong, that they have done nothing provoke the wrath of the fair folk, some such nonsense. His mouth curdles with the bitterness of it.

“You have taken something that belongs to us,” Logan says sharply, “you have touched something that you had no claim to.”

The idiot’s eyes dart around to see the flower, lying torn and mangled on the ground. The fool next to him mutters: “all this over one fucking flower?”

Patton’s eyes flare as his head snaps to their face. Gone is the friendly smile, in its place is only ruthless determination.

“My,” Patton remarks, his voice cold, “what a rude little thing you are. It isn’t your place to decide what someone’s reaction should be, is it?”

“N-no, forgive me, I didn’t mean to—“

“I do not forgive you.” The coward whimpers as Patton steps closer, his eyes narrowed into ice chips.

“You have harmed what is ours,” Logan continues, his fingers making the vines twist tighter around the struggling fools, “you stole from us. And still, you do not know what you have done.”

“They think this is over a flower,” Patton says, “they do not understand, do they?”

“We can replace the flower!” Janus scoffs. “We can—“

“You cannot,” Logan interrupts smoothly, cutting the voice off with a vine wrapped around his throat, “because you do not _understand._ ”

“What must we do,” the idiot burbles, “what do you _want?_ ”

“Why are you here,” Logan asks, “why did you see fit to run into our garden?”

“We’re chasing a demon.” The coward wriggles around to stare at Logan, away from Patton’s icy gaze. “It tore our village apart. It cursed us. It’s evil.”

Patton reaches out and grabs the coward’s chin, yanking his head around sharply. “And what, precisely, makes you think this is the work of a demon?”

“Eyes,” hisses the idiot, and Janus’s fists clench under his cape, “fucking thing had eyes that reeked of evil.”

Patton doesn’t blink. “And what did this demon do?”

“Made us hate,” the coward gasps, “made us lie, made us steal. Brought horror into the fields, killed our animals, ruined our crops.”

“And why did you chase this demon?”

“Tried to purge its evil.” The coward’s flabby neck bulges around Patton’s fingers. “Did all the things we’re supposed to do, let—let me go I can’t—I can’t _breathe—_ “

Patton keeps his hold and simply turns to the idiot, raising an eyebrow.

“Fire,” the idiot stammers, “fire and stoning and beating, we tried, we tried to cleanse it—“

“Enough.” Logan closes his fists and the vines gag the fools. “You will speak when I remove the vines and you will say nothing that does not answer the questions we ask you. Do you understand?”

Janus watches. He lets his tongue flick out as the third fool meets his gaze. They believe what they are saying is true and it makes him _sick._

The other two are burbling some nonsense that Patton cuts through with a sharp look. Janus keeps his eyes locked on the third fool, reaching into his head.

_“Can’t believe you couldn’t fucking find him.”_

_“Can’t believe you didn’t just fucking break his leg.”_

_“Wasn’t supposed to, had to wait.”_

_“The fucking brand didn’t take again, what the hell else are we supposed to do?”_

_“We have to find him. Who knows what else he can do.”_

_“Thought you said the fae fucking stole him.”_

_“Maybe they made him worse. Ever since he left this place has gone to hell.”_

_“Is Old Man Watson still sick?”_

_“Worse. It’s spread. The madness has Lucy and Janet too.”_

_“They seeing visions still?”_

_“Fire, hysteria, demons in the night.  
_

_“Their eyes turned purple yet?”_

_“No, thank heavens. If we can find it and kill it maybe it’ll stop.”_

_“It might just take another form, we need to find it and imprison it again.”_

_“Right. Send three people out, maybe they’ll find him.”_

_“And what if they can’t?”_

_“Then we’ll send the village.”_

Janus’s magic leaves the third fool in a rush, leaving him sagging and breathless in the vines. He raises his chin and nods to Logan. Logan steps back.

“Under normal circumstances,” he says, “there would be a bargain struck. You would flee, with the promise to never again enter these woods or take what is ours, and your lives would be spared.”

“N-never again,” the fools bumble in his grasp, “you have our word.”

“I take your word,” Logan says, “but these are not normal circumstances.”

Patton smiles, a dark, wretched thing, and lightly touches one of the vines. Immediately, the three fools howl.

“Give me your names,” he says lightly, “and this will stop. I will consider the debt paid.”

The idiot howls first. “Lynsey Tylar Sowards!”

“N-Nicky Aspen Chaplark,” groans the coward, still writhing in the vines.

The third fool barely has enough breath to whisper. “Avery Shad Martinson.”

Janus grins and the vines tighten their grip. The howls of the fools grow higher.

“I take your names.” Patton takes his hand away as more of Logan’s vines swarm their bodies. Their screams are muffled under layers and layers of the plants.

He opens his hand and the earth swallows them whole.

“There will be more,” Logan mutters, the grace and power he wielded fading slightly as the immediate danger passes, “we have to get ready.”

“The twins should be back soon.” Patton looks anxiously at the trees. “What’s taking them so long?”

_You try swinging from trees while carrying V, it’s not easy._

“Are you swinging with him?”

_No, I’m carrying him. Remus is up in the trees keeping watch. We heard what happened, they’re really sending the whole village after him?_

“It appears so.” Logan adjusts his glasses. “I don’t—I don’t understand. Why are they—do they not _care?_ ”

“It doesn’t matter _why,_ ” Patton growls, “the point is they’re _coming._ ”

_We’re almost back, hang on._

Sure enough, a few moments later, Remus emerges from the trees as Roman rushes back into the garden, cradling V in his arms.

“He’s hurt,” Roman murmurs, quickly crouching down near the portal and laying V delicately out over his lap, “back of his head, I don’t know what they hit him with.”

“It was a big club,” Remus growls, hanging from a tree overhead, “saw one of them with it.”

Logan curses under his breath as Patton cradles V’s head, his palm coming away red. He turns and dives through the portal as Patton has Roman help him coax V upright. Remus locks eyes with Janus and tilts his head.

Janus can’t tear his gaze away.

_It’s happening again._

“Should we move him,” Roman asks anxiously, “like, to his room or something?”

“I don’t want to risk it.” Patton runs his hand anxiously over V’s forehead. “Mortals are so fragile…I don’t know what moving him more could do.”

“But we can’t stay here out in the open?”

“No one’s gonna fucking get near him,” Remus growls immediately, “not while we’re all standing here.”

_Focus. Be the Gatekeeper. Don’t get sucked in._

“I’ve got it,” Logan says in a rush, reappearing from the portal and crouching down over V. He opens the small case.

“Just a bit,” Patton cautions as Logan applies the patch to the back of V’s head, “I don’t want to take it too far.”

“It’s only a small wound and head wounds always look worse than they actually are.”

“Don’t you worry,” Roman murmurs to V as he lies there, “we’ll get you all better, little honeybee.”

“How much longer?”

“I’m almost done.”

“Don’t rush it, please, I don’t—I don’t want him hurt anymore.”

“I won’t, Pat, I give you my word.”

“What happened to him, why isn’t he waking up?”

“Mortal brains are fragile things, they have to be treated gently, the fact that he didn’t wake up when you were bringing him back means he’s been severely hurt.”

Something cold takes hold of Janus’s chest.

“What do we _do?”_

“I can do most of it through here, but…” Logan trails off and Patton leans closer.

“But what, Logan, what’s going to happen?”

“Part of repairing the injury means repairing the part of his brain that deals with consciousness. Which means—“

Roman curses. “He’s gonna wake up and have no idea what’s going on, isn’t he?”

Logan nods, regret seeping into his voice. “And in order for me to…keep healing him…”

Patton’s face pales. “Are you…do you…are you telling us we need to hold him still?”

The cold squeezes when Logan nods. Janus winces. Logan doesn’t want this, he can tell by how tight his mouth is, but Logan’s right. V…in order for V’s head to heal properly, he needs to hold still for Logan to work. But that means…

“I don’t want to,” Roman whispers, “if—if he struggles, I’m _going_ to let him go.”

“I know.” Logan’s hand trembles at the back of V’s head. “I know.”

“Couldn’t we—“ Patton swallows and tries again— “could we…tie him down?”

“That would be worse.” Remus bares his teeth. “Might make him feel like they took him after all.”

“It won’t be long,” Logan cautions, his other hand carefully laid on V’s chest, “get ready…”

Something prickles lightly at the back of Janus’s mind. He tries to push it away, focus, make sure none of them will get hurt, but it grows, pulsing intently, in pain, crying out. A barrier breaks.

He gasps.

_Drifting back to consciousness is never a pleasant experience. But getting slammed back into your body at full force is downright loathsome._

_They didn’t give him a name he could remember so he flailed about in his consciousness before finding the thing they called him. V. J? No, V. No. J._

_It was V. This body is called V._

_That’s right, they called him V._

_V tries to open his eyes. It’s blurry, unfocused, almost like his eyes aren’t working properly. He recognizes the feeling of trying to move in a body that doesn’t feel right. What he doesn’t fully recognize is the location. Normally when he wakes up, it’s inside, yes, but in a hayloft, or a dark corner, or a pile of wood. It’s too dark. The ceiling is not made of the right material. And he is strapped down to the table on just his wrists and his ankles._

_Voices._

_“He can’t stay here, he’s a threat!”_

_“He’s pretty much incapacitated, Damian, calm down.”_

~~ _Damian._ ~~

~~ _“Damian!” The scream comes from the top of the roof. The little boy falls until another hand grasps his ankle and pulls him to safety. He doesn’t have time to make sure he’s safe when a blur knocks him off his feet. “What the fuck did you do to him?”_ ~~

_“Damian’s right, he’s more at risk here than anywhere else.”_

_“He’s a demon, that’s for sure.”_

_“How are we going to get it out?”_

_“Well, we can’t kill him.”_

_“Obviously.”_

~~ _They try. They strap burning metal to his flesh and watch as he howls, the metal searing into his skin and binding until he can’t remove it. They tell him it’s for his own good, the pain will make it go away, the pain will make the evil stop._ ~~

~~ _“Why are you doing this,” he pants when he manages to speak, “why?”_ ~~

~~ _Burning, searing, white-hot pain takes him out of his body, floating above it, watching himself twist and turn and ache, trying to get away from the metal._ ~~

~~ _“Because you deserve it,” comes the voice, “because there is something evil in you and we are trying to get it out.”_ ~~

~~ _“He should be dead,” comes another voice, struck between awe and terror, “no one should be able to survive that.”_ ~~

~~ _“The demon is strong.” The first voice straightens. “We will have to try harder.”_ ~~

_It hasn’t worked. V still remembers. Remembers who V is in this place. What he’s done. What…what they’ve done to V._

_“But we need a permanent solution. We can’t just toss him in chains.”_

_“No, he’s too dangerous.”_

~~ _It hurts. It hurts because it wasn’t even his fault but they framed him and now it looks like it was his and now they’ve got Damian. And now the people are after him._ ~~

_“Is there a way to separate him from his powers?”_

~~ _His instinct kicks in. He fights it for as long as he can but his body is itching to move as much as he tries to hold onto it. He sees the red hoods running towards him and he tries to flee, tries to retreat but then she runs into something big._ ~~

~~ _“Gotcha.”_ ~~

_“Did we completely skip past the idea of making an ally out of him? He’s not that hard to manipulate.”_

_~~They come with their soft words, trying to lure him into submitting himself to the chains, to the switches, to the brands. They try and touch him gently but it only aches more. Eventually, they stop trying to be soft and scratch, grab, try and subdue him as quickly as possible when they catch him.~~ _

_“No, he’s too far gone. It has to be purged from him completely before it infects the others.”_

_No, no, no, no, there’s nothing wrong with him, he never hurt anybody, it wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t—_

_Wham._

_The gauntlets flash on his wrists, severing the straps. He reaches down and cuts his feet free. They gleam in the pale light. He looks around the cave. He can hear them talking so they must be close but they can’t see him so he must be in the corner of the room where the door is just out of sight._

_They can’t forgive this, forgive his actions, even if he didn’t mean it, even if it wasn’t him, he didn’t do it! He should have left, left the village, left this place, once it was clear they didn’t want him but he was selfish, so selfish, he wanted to hope that it would get better before he cut himself off, because now, now he’s ruined everything. He’s going to have to run faster, run farther, because now they hate him, they hate him, and if he stays they’ll—_

_They’re coming. They’re coming and they’ll kill him or they’ll take him away or they’ll make him hurt someone again and he has to run, he has to run now. They’re going to hurt him, because that’s what they do to their enemies and to bad people, they hurt them and he doesn’t want to hurt anymore and why didn’t he just run?_

_He has to run, because he knows he can’t hurt them and he can’t let them get to him but he doesn’t want to fight, he can’t, he really can’t, and he doesn’t have access to anything, and he has to run because he doesn’t want them killed, doesn’t want to make anyone hurt. He can’t let them die so he runs because he can’t see the look in their eyes while they make him break._

_“Hey!”_

_Up the stairs and out the door. Run. Run. He runs through the village faster than this body is supposed to run, runs faster than he ever has in his life because he knows they’re faster and stronger and if they catch him he will be destroyed. He can sense exactly where they are because of that damn power and he veers towards the hill in the upper corner of the square because the cliff there is too high to jump off of but he can make it and it doesn’t matter if he falls because then they won’t get him and no, his legs move like molasses, the chain is dragging him back like he’s stuck in molasses, and no he can’t stop because it can’t end like this, they can’t get hurt, he can’t let this win, he has to go, no no nononononono…_

_He runs into a firm weight._

_An arm locks around him. A solid weight yanks him to the ground. He lands hard atop a body that dwarfs his tiny frame. Legs lace through his and pin them motionless. A large hand grabs his throat and forces it against a heavy shoulder, head slammed at an awkward angle into the ground._

_No, no, he just wants to go, he’s going to hurt them, it’s going to kill them, they’re going to hate him even more, he has to run, he has to go, he has to —_

_He thrashes desperately, legs spasming in their hold, arms trying to claw their way out, but the hand on his throat tightens and he can’t breathe, and the instinct will kick in and he’ll die —_

_“Stay still,” a voice growls in her ear, “stay still or I won’t let you breathe.”_

_He has to stay still or the instinct will — he will kill them._

_He fights every instinct programmed into him and does as they order, going limp in their hold. The hand releases and he gasps. Then he realizes what’s happened._

_But the hand tightens its grip again and he shakes in the hold. He can’t let the instinct win but it’s hard and he can’t let them die he can’t let them die he won’t kill them he won’t kill them you can’t make me kill them you can’t —_

_“You can’t make me kill them!”_

_His throat aches against the palm on his neck, vocal chords straining as the shouts ring through the night. He loses track of how many times he yells until there’s a voice at his ear._

_“Shut the fuck up,” the voice growls, tightening its grip until black spots appear in his vision, “shut the fuck up. You’re a fucking demon, you beast, you shut up or I swear I’ll kill you right now.”_

_He tries, tries to fight the instinct that just keeps screaming louder and louder._

_They stay on the ground until someone happens upon them, no, no, no— “B’s got him! Back here, behind the bakery!”_

_Someone else, someone else is coming. “There’s a new set of shackles, want me to bring the cuffs?”_

_“Bring all of them,” the voice snarls, “B’s barely holding onto him right now.”_

_“If I let you go, will you run?”_

_The growl is back. He’s still angry. Of course he’s still angry, he needs to —_

_“‘Yes,’ I think is the answer,” the voice says._

_“Okay.” The arm around him tightens and the pressure on his throat increases. “I’m going to sit up. You’re going to stay with me.”_

_It’s not a question. They do sit up, hold staying iron until they’re upright. He doesn’t try to move. He’s holding the instinct back by a hair, no need to give it anything else to go off. But even then, he can’t stop the shaking. He swallows painfully, throat working furiously against the hand still on his neck it’s going to snap his neck in two and then the instinct will kick in and they’ll make him kill them —_

_“B, how much longer do you think you can hold him? The others are coming but they’re not—they won’t be able to—”_

_“As long as I need to,” B growls, “he killed my baby boy.”_

_It wasn’t me! I didn’t do it! He was dancing on the roof, I tried to reach out for him but he fell and one of the others cried out, I didn’t do anything, I didn’t—_

_Footsteps coming into the hall._

_“Took you lot long enough.”_

_“You’ll forgive me for being extra cautious.”_

_“Just hurry up and get over here, I don’t know how much longer he’ll stay put.”_

_“Guys, shut up. You’re not helping.”_

_They’re all here, the instinct hums in his veins, it would be so easy._

_He has to close his eyes as they pull him away from that hold, hands wrapping tight around his wrists and pulling, pulling, scraping, scratching, hooking in and digging until they’re tying him up like some horrible feast._

_“Did you call the others?”_

_“They’re bringing the rest of the kids to the big house.”_

_“And the church?”_

_“It’s full to bursting already.”_

_“Who’s going to help us drag him there, then?”_

_“We have to hurry. He already got out once.”_

_One voice sounds from much closer. “Why don’t we try that thing that worked last time?”_

_“I’m not good at it, I think Joran’s the best at it.”_

_“The rest of you are gonna have to help me hold him still, I’ve only gotten it to work when he’s strapped down.”_

_“We got him tied up pretty good.”_

_“We can’t move him until we know he’s not gonna run. He ran last time.”_

_“So we gotta do this first?”_

_“Yeah. We’ll help.”_

_“Okay.” There’s a little pause and then there’s a gentle voice in his ear. No, no, not this, please—“Can you hear me? Do you remember your name?”_

_He gasps around the lump in his throat. “V. V.”_

_“That’s right.” A hand rubs his neck. “Do you remember where you are?”_

_“Behind…behind the bakery.” Why is he answering? He doesn’t trust this, it never leads anywhere good, they’re going to hurt him—_

_“That’s right. You’re going to breathe for me. You’re going to breathe because if you don’t it will hurt. You’re going to breathe and you’re going to stay still.”_

_He doesn’t want to listen, he doesn’t want to do what they want, he wants to stay afraid, if he’s afraid he’s in control, if he’s afraid he can run, if he’s afraid it’s his and not theirs. But that’s what the instinct wants and he—he—_

_He breathes in and out slowly. The instinct is loosening its hold on him. If he remembers that, he’s stuck. But he has no choice._

_“That’s right.”_

_The hand leaves his throat and he can’t help but whimper at the loss. A voice chuckles above him and croons something else. He doesn’t move. He can’t move. He can’t move because he’s trussed up and he can’t move because the nice voice told him not to and he can’t move because if he does the instinct might come back. His head stays forced back against his neck. A pair of hands lands on her head and yanks him back by his hair, his eyes still shut. He stays rigid, head not moving from the awkward angle until someone takes his chin and tugs it down._

_“He won’t open his eyes,” a voice says, “you okay?”_

_He hasn’t done anything, he hasn’t done anything—_

_“How about you, B,” the voice continues, “no injuries?”_

_“No injuries,” B repeats._

_“That’s good.” There’s a shuffle. “What now?”_

_“I don’t know,” a voice admits quietly, “I don’t know.”_

_Another voice starts to add its input. The three of them begin talking about…something._

_They’re not paying attention to him right now. He…he could…he could still run? Maybe? They trussed him up but it’s just his arms…really, it’s just his arms. He could…if he could stand up, maybe…_

_The instinct rumbles low in his veins as he starts moving his fingers slowly and carefully. Feeling around in the dark, with his eyes closed, trying to find the little locks and links keeping him in place. The other ones were simpler, these ones are more complicated. But still he works, his eyes closed, his ears straining to hear if they’ve noticed anything._

_“We should get someone else,” one of the voices is saying, “at least to help us carry him.”_

_“You wanna carry him?”_

_“I’m not super keen on trying to drag him, what if he gets a hold of something?”_

_“It’ll be faster too, heave him over the stuff.”_

_“Fine. We’re gonna need backup.”_

_“You run down then, we’ll stay here.”_

_“If it’s just me, they won’t believe me.”_

_“Why, ‘cause you said you’d gotten the horseshoes yesterday when you were off—“_

_“Look, just one of you come with me?”_

_“B? You alright to stay here by yourself?”_

_He hears B spit. “Yeah. I’ll guard the vermin. You lot hurry back or you may not find him alive.”_

_He has to go quickly, has to focus. Please, please…just a little more…_

_One of his fingers slides under the lock. It’s a simple one, maybe he can…_

_He feels the warmth of breath on his face and winces at the foul smell. The others must have left. Good. Now if the instinct rears its ugly head again they won’t all get hurt but what if they left so when he gets hurt they won’t know what if —_

_“You’re gonna wish you’d never pushed my boy.”_

_His voice isn’t soft at all, no. It’s steel that makes all the scum of the village scurry for cover, and V’s need to run sharpens again, making his fingers falter. But he can’t move. Not yet. Not yet._

_So close…so close…there._

_Something gives. B doesn’t notice. Footsteps. More footsteps. B stands up. So close. Not yet. Wait._

_V opens his eyes. B isn’t looking at him. The forest is just over his shoulder. It’s so close. So close. He’s so close._

_Footsteps just around the corner. The light from torches. B takes a few steps away from him._

_Now._

The connection snaps and Janus gasps as V jolts awake, the pain in the back of his head pounding as V flails desperately, against Roman, against Logan, against Patton. Logan’s hand leaves the back of V’s head and the pain worsens.

“V, V, honey,” Patton tries, “you’re safe, honey, it’s just us, kiddo—“

_No, no, that won’t work,_ and it doesn’t, V shies away from Patton and only succeeds in tumbling out of Roman’s lap.

“You have to stay still—“ _not that either!—_ “please, I’m almost done, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

Logan’s efforts to soothe V crumble when he wails, ripping himself away and staggering to his feet, all but shoving Roman to the ground and taking two shaky steps before collapsing again, much to the dismay of the others. Even then, he doesn’t stop, trying to claw his way across the garden, each haggard breath another solid weight landing in the pit of Janus’s stomach.

Janus aches.

He knows this pain, knows it too well, but he _aches_ from the need to fix it, to whisper some pretty lie into V’s ear, knowing it would do nothing but make it worse. For all his power, right now, he is powerless, unable to soothe the agony in this poor, _poor_ little mortal.

Then he realizes V’s calling out.

“ _J,_ ” comes the broken whimper, “it hurts, it hurts, make it stop…”

Remus reaches out for the others and wraps them in his tentacles. Despite their protests, he picks them up and holds them close. Janus’s eyes widen as V starts to glow.

It’s…it shouldn’t be possible. Mortals don’t have power, certainly not like this.

But the garden had _always_ responded to V.

A purple glow surrounds V’s body, bright enough to make Janus wince and shield his eyes, only to have his heart break all over again once V calls out again. 

“J?” He gasps. “J, J, where—where— _help—“_

Janus swallows heavily, walking forward and slowly, slowly crouching down next to him.

“Little mouse,” he calls softly, “little mouse, can you hear me?”

“J? Is—I can’t—“

“I’m right here.” Janus reaches out for him only for V to flinch away. “Shh, shh, easy, I’m just letting you know I’m here.”

“I can’t stop it,” V gasps, the glow growing brighter, “I can’t—I’m going to hurt you—I have to—“

Janus watches in horror as V wraps his hands around his own wrists, squeezing tightly, trying to block the light. Without thinking, he reaches out to try and stop it.

“Don’t do that, V,” he all but begs, “don’t, you’re going to hurt yourself, stop—“

“I _have to stop it,_ I’m gonna hurt you—I—I’m—“

“You won’t hurt me,” Janus promises, his own aura starting to glow, “you can’t, I give you my word, look…look, see? You’re not hurting me, sweetie.”

“I’m—I can’t—I’m—oh god, I’m—“

“You don’t need to be scared with me.” Janus shuffles closer. “Look—try and attack me and I give you my word I can stop you. You’re safe with me. You couldn’t hurt me if you tried, I’m…”

Janus takes a deep breath, his voice cracking.

“…I’m just like you.”

He waits, heart in his throat.

V’s eyes, so wide, so frightened, stare up at the mixing of purple and gold, as Janus watches on anxiously. Slowly, slowly he reaches out, hand faltering at the last second.

Janus risks a glance over V’s shoulder. Remus still has the others held out of the way. They’re out of earshot. He bends closer.

“ _Virgil,”_ he whispers, “Virgil, it’s okay…it’s okay, sweetheart, I’m right here.”

_There._

Virgil throws himself at Janus. Janus catches him, pulls him close, has to shut his eyes at the bright flash of light, letting Virgil tremble against him. His wrists are still tucked close to his chest and the poor thing hunches in on himself, trying to cower in the lea of him. It aches.

“I’m sorry,” he gasps, “I’m sorry.”

Virgil is…apologizing?

“Oh, little mouse, you have nothing to apologize for,” Janus soothes, “ _I’m_ the one who should be sorry, I wasn’t paying enough attention, I never should’ve let that happen, oh, sweetie, don’t be sorry, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

He doesn’t try and pull Virgil any closer, knowing it might trigger another flashback, soothing his own ache by reminding himself that _yes, Virgil’s here, he’s safe, you’re safe._

“Virgil? Virgil, sweetie, can you hear me? Virgil? Virgil?”

Virgil gasps. Jerks away. Stops. Janus feels the prickle in the back of his head again.

_They told V not to move. V can’t move. Or they won’t let V breathe_.

“Virgil, _breathe,_ come on, breathe.”

“I’m-I’m sorry,” Virgil blurts out, “I’m sorry.”

Janus reaches out, hands lightly on his shoulders. “For what?”

“I-I moved. They said not to move or-or they wouldn’t let me br…breathe.”

“Oh, _darling_.”

Janus pulls Virgil into his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around the poor little bundle, shaking with his fists still tucked up to his chest. One pair of his arms wraps around V’s shoulders, tucking his head into the crook of his neck.

“Whatever you’re thinking, or whatever that voice in your head is telling you,” he whispers firmly, “stop it. Tell it to shut up and go away. It’s lying to you.”

Virgil can’t stop whimpering.

“I’m not mad at you, Virgil, and I’m not going to hurt you. And you’re not going to hurt me.” Janus presses their foreheads together. “ _You’re safe, Virgil.”_

_They will never touch you again. They will never hurt you again. They will never lie to you again._

Virgil’s hands fly to Janus’s chest and dig in, hard. Janus’s brows furrow at the slight sting of the nails, more concerned about the way Virgil’s arms tremble from the exertion, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Virgil?”

A moment.

Two moments.

Then…

Virgil blinks his eyes open and looks down at his hands.

“No gauntlets,” Janus murmurs, “no blood. Everyone’s okay.”

Virgil’s gaze traces slowly up his hands to fixate on Janus’s face. His eyes hold Janus’s gaze effortlessly.

“Hello there, little mouse,” Janus whispers, “will you stay here with me?”

Virgil nods shakily, blindly reaching forward until he freezes again. Can…can he move now?

Without hesitation, Janus bundles him against his chest, wrapping his arms around him like a protective blanket. Virgil is small and soft and _warm,_ and Janus holds him like he’s going to fly apart if he dares let go.

“You’re safe, Virgil, I have you, little mouse.” There’s a pause before he finishes. “You’re mine, sweetheart, as long as you want to be.”

_Safe_ , _Virgil, I will keep you safe. No one will ever hurt us again._

Virgil clings to Janus like a lifeline. He clutches him back just as tightly. They stay wrapped up on the ground until another set of footsteps finds them.

“V?”

_Logan._

“Little one,” Logan calls softly, coming so Virgil can see him, “little one, can I heal your head, please?”

Virgil nods against Janus’s neck.

“Can you move just a little for me?”

_Stay still or I won’t let you breathe._

“Shh, it’s okay, little mouse,” Janus hushes, “you don’t have to move right now. Will you let me lean your head back? Just so L can see?” _Then you won’t have to move._

Virgil nods.

“Alright. Here we go.”

Carefully, Janus takes a gentle hold of the base of Virgil’s skull and leans it to the side, baring the injury for Logan to look at. Logan nods, softly warning Virgil before he lays the patch over it again. As the patch starts to glow, Virgil sighs shakily, his chest stuttering against Janus’s.

“You’re doing so well, little one,” Logan murmurs, “so well.”

Janus glances up to see Remus still hanging onto Patton and Roman, suspended from the tree. He raises an eyebrow.

“Little mouse,” Janus murmurs, “little mouse, the others are worried, is it alright with you if they come over?”

“O-others?”

“The twins,” Logan says softly, “and Pat, little one.”

“…can they come here?.”

“Here? Do you want them here?”

“Yeah.”

No sooner had Virgil said so, Remus lowers them all gently to the ground and Patton is by Logan’s side, helping heal his head.

“Hey there, kiddo,” he murmurs, “I’m sorry about everything. You’re doing so well.”

“Little honeybee?” Roman eases himself down behind Virgil. “Little honeybee, may I touch you?”

Virgil nods and Roman begins drawing light patterns on his back in the spaces between Janus’s arms. As he works, Roman looks up to catch Janus’s gaze, a silent question. Janus nods and Roman leans forward, pressing a kiss to Virgil’s shoulder. Remus hovers over their shoulders, one tentacle outstretched for Virgil to squeeze.

“There,” Logan murmurs eventually, “all done.”

“Thank you,” Virgil mumbles. “I’m sorry.”

“What for, little one?”

“Fighting.”

Logan stiffens, leaning a little closer, brushing his lips over Virgil’s temple. “I will _never_ be angry with you for defending yourself, little one, I care about you far too much for that.”

“None of us will,” Remus mutters, “especially not after something like that.”

With that solemn reminder of what just happened, Virgil stiffens.

“What...how did they find me?”

“I don’t know,” Janus confesses, “I don’t know, little mouse.”

“They—they said they were coming back,” Virgil stammers, his breathing beginning to pick up again, “they said they would—what if they—“

“Shh, shh,” Roman hushes gently, rubbing Virgil’s back, “calm down, little honeybee, you’re alright now.”

“But what if they come back?” The cry rings in the garden. “They won’t stop coming, they won’t stop looking for me, they won’t stop—they won’t—they won’t—I just—“

Janus lifts Virgil’s chin and holds his gaze. “Look at me, little mouse.”

Virgil’s gaze, so clouded with fear, locks with his, settling only the slightest as Janus holds him steady.

“I make this promise to you,” he says in a low, steady voice, “that no harm will come to you while you are under my protection. I make this promise as the Gatekeeper that I will keep you safe.”

The promise takes hold, settling over them. The magic twists and forms a shimmering dome around the garden.

“I have you, little mouse,” Janus whispers, “and I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

Virgil swallows. “I…I just want it to stop.”

“What to stop, sweetie,” Patton asks gently, “what is it?”

When Virgil doesn’t continue, Roman nudges him gently. “Say it, little honeybee, you can say it.”

Virgil swallows. “I want them to _go away.”_

Janus nods. “Then we will make them go away.”

“Let’s get you into bed, kiddo,” Patton says softly, laying a hand on Virgil’s forehead, “you look tired.”

“Rest would help you heal the rest of the way,” Logan adds, “and you would be on the other side of the portal.”

That seems to seal it. Janus scoops Virgil up into his arms, the others forming a guard around them as they walk back to the portal. Virgil doesn’t give him enough time to hesitate before asking Janus to take him all the way inside. As he lays Virgil down in his bed, he goes to draw away when Virgil catches him in a quick, fierce hug.

“Are you,” come the strangled whisper in his ear, “are you…really like me?”

Oh.

_Oh._

“Yes,” he breathes back, “yes, Virgil, I am.”

“And you…you’ll keep me?”

‘Keep me.’ Not ‘keep me safe,’ just ‘keep me.’

“You are mine, Virgil,” he repeats, “for as long as you want to be.”

It’s warmth that fills his chest as he lays Virgil back down. It’s warmth as he walks outside, back through the portal. It’s warmth that fills him as he rejoins the others, still in the garden.

Then fury.

Waves and waves of it, growing, crashing, tumbling down over and over until the bond writhes with it, white-hot and searing as they stand in the garden.

Janus isn’t sure who the suggestion comes from first. Only that the thought, once given words, swells and swells until all they can see is fire and ash.

_Burn it down._

* * *

The village is asleep in darkness when shadows melt out of the forest. It is hard to see them all at first, they all look so similar. Then they separate, one, two, three, four, five. In the pale light of the moon, they stretch, grow, take shapes that darken the grass beneath their feet. As they do, the moon’s influence shrinks in comparison to the brightness coming from their auras.

One little village.

Five beings going feral.

The cry goes up from the first villagers to see the bright light but it’s not quick enough.

A red blur dives into the square and the statues go up in flames, the nearby roof catching and spreading, the flame licking eagerly at the wood.

A light blue flash melts the metal of every tool, every weapon, sealing doors in the process and ripping screams out of unyielding throats, striking fear into cold, hardened hearts.

A dark blue shape sends minds into chaos, unable to think, to form, to defend against the onslaught, sending everything into a confusing mess of uncertainty.

A green beast leaps from rooftop to rooftop, scurrying back and forth as it tosses more and more into the growing blaze, taking images and creatures of darkness from the minds of the frightened and turning them loose as living nightmares.

A yellow silhouette stands at the front of the masses, looking at the centuries of destruction finally closing the circle.

“Why should I apologize for being a monster,” it murmurs, “when no one has ever apologized for making me this way?”

Vines tear down buildings. Fires rage along the streets. The shackles explode. The weapons are gone.

Reality crumbles.

There is a certain beauty in setting the world on fire and watching from the center of the flames.

Far away, safe behind walls and wards and shields, a little mortal sleeps in peace.

And the monsters that tried to drag him into darkness burn.

* * *

In the dark of the night, Virgil stirs, soft golden light coming from outside. He blinks, whimpering, reaching for something, some _one._

Something he can feel, a thin golden thread stretching in his mind, he reaches out for it, tugs. Tugs something into his room.

“Virgil?”

_“J?”_

“I’m here, Virgil,” Janus murmurs, his hand carding through Virgil’s hair in the warm light, “I’m right here.”

“Is…are they…”

Janus leans down and gently presses a kiss to Virgil’s forehead. “You’re safe, little mouse. It’s done.”

Virgil, still not all the way awake, falls awkwardly onto Janus’s lap.

“You’re safe,” Janus repeats, murmuring into Virgil’s ear as he strokes his hair, “safe from memories, safe from people who hurt you, and things from the past that make you feel bad about yourself.”

As Virgil begins to doze off again, slumping in Janus’s hold, Janus swallows, hearing another voice speak with his. Shaking, he pulls off one of his gloves.

“They aren’t real,” he whispers, his hand trembling as he looks at it, “they don’t define who you are.”

Virgil’s hair is so soft under his bare hand, his scales glimmering in the light.

“Be gentle to yourself,” he breathes, “as you heal, this compassion will protect you and help you move on as a new person.”

In his sleep, Virgil nuzzles into Janus’s belly and a breath tears itself out of Janus’s lungs. His mouth dry, a weight lifts itself off his shoulders, his entire body tingling from the warmth of Virgil’s breaths puffing against him and the softness of Virgil’s hair under his hand. When he speaks again, his voice trembles, barely audible, whispered to Virgil, to the voice that said the same words eons ago, to _himself._

“You can begin again,” he whispers, “lighter, without burdens, but growth and learned lessons.”

* * *

Virgil wakes up from a nightmare and in an instant, the five of them surround him. Janus has him in his lap before he needs to ask, rocking him slowly back and forth. The twins are propped up on the end of the bed, keeping watch as Logan talks quietly and Patton runs his hand through his hair. They shush his cries, soothe his whimpers, and hold him steady.

“It’s alright, little mouse,” Janus whispers as Virgil trembles against him, “I’m here, we’re here.”

“Thank you,” Virgil mumbles, “I’m—“

He cuts himself off and Janus worries. Then he takes a deep breath and sits back.

“No. I’m not sorry. It…it wasn’t my fault.”

Janus’s heart stutters to a glorious pause.

Yes. _Yes._

“I’m so proud of you,” he manages, “I’m so proud of you, little mouse.”

“I…it’s not my fault that they hurt me,” Virgil continues, louder now, “I didn’t do anything wrong. There’s…there’s nothing wrong with me.”

_“Yes._ ”

“There’s nothing wrong with me.”

Virgil’s panting. Janus is too. The others are beaming so hard it looks like it hurts.

“Oh, V,” Patton murmurs, “V, I’m so—“

“That’s not my name.”

_…oh, oh, sweetheart…_

_Yes, my darling, come on, you can do it…_

“My name is Virgil,” comes the voice and it’s _wonderful._

For a moment there is silence. But only a moment. Then Janus cups one hand around Virgil’s cheek.

“Hello, Virgil,” he says, loud enough for the others to hear, “my name is Janus.”

Roman’s mouth falls open in shock. He doesn’t blame him, not necessarily. Janus isn’t exactly known for…volunteering information. But Virgil…Virgil gives him reasons and words he’s never had before.

“Virgil,” Patton says softly, recovering next, “my name is Patton.”

“Virgil.” Logan runs his hand over Virgil’s cheek. “My name is Logan.”

“Virgil,” Roman murmurs into Virgil’s shoulder, “my name is Roman.”

“Virgil.” Remus squeezes his hand. “My name is Remus.”

Virgil repeats all their names in a hushed voice, looking back at Janus with such a look of confusion. “What,” he whispers as a tear runs down his cheek, “what’s happening?”

“You’re crying, Virgil,” Logan says softly, “that’s all.”

“B-but I’m not afraid,” Virgil manages, “I’m—I’m—“

“Crying happens when you’re overwhelmed by anything,” Logan corrects softly, “and…when was the last time you felt _happy?_ ”

Just like that, the last of the wall crumbles as the bond splits _wide_ open.

For a moment, there’s nothing more than blind confusion, voices fumbling around, trying to figure out what’s happening. Then…then everything settles, with one key difference.

Janus smiles and knocks his forehead against Virgil’s. “Congratulations, little mouse. You did it.”

  
“What…what did I do?”

“ _Feel,_ little mouse.”

Janus watches Virgil’s eyes widen as he realizes what’s happened.

“I’m…I’m…” Virgil smiles. He _smiles._ “I’m…bonded?”

“You’re bonded,” Janus echoes, “ _you did it._ ”

“You…you want me,” Virgil says breathlessly, “you _want me._ ”

  
“Of course we do, sweetie.”

Of course, we do.

There is something about people who were abused or neglected as children that makes us embrace things that others consider monstrous.

It isn’t a coincidence most of us like animals like rats and crows, or little mice.

It isn’t a coincidence that we are the first to jump to the defense of ‘worthless’ plants like dandelions, or flowers in need of a little help to grow healthy and strong.

It’s why we get so attached to old toys and broken things.

When you spend your whole life believing you’re not wanted, it turns you into a defender of the other unwanted things in the world.

And you’re not just protecting them—you’re protecting the part of yourself that still believes you deserve to exist. Just like they do. Just like we all do.

So if you ever feel unwanted, my darlings, you are not. You are wanted, you are loved, you will be protected.

And if you ever find yourself needing to run, run to the garden. We’ll be waiting for you with open arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we go! Thank you guys so much for sticking by me for this massive project, I hope you guys enjoyed it! Please, come yell at me on tumblr about things, I am an attention-seeking queer bitch

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Come yell at me on tumblr:
> 
> https://a-small-batch-of-dragons.tumblr.com/


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